Book of the Shadows Looking Glass - Code Geass R3 Alter
by DaCosta Rosencraft
Summary: "The work of a man named Lelouch, who donned the mask of a hero named Zero, has yet to be completed. I will finish that work now." From the dark skies of a clear night five years after the Zero Requiem, a new terror descends and burns the imperial capital. A ghost from that terrible age returns. Witness a new age of terror in the Holy Britannia Empire.
1. Chapter 1 - Altercation

The night brought with it a mildness not seen in several months. It was the third night in a row that such cool temperatures had reached this part of the country. It was an indication that long nights were on the horizon.

Nights like these could be rather still and solemn. Enough warmth remained to discourage one from being overly active, but the chill was enough to dull movements too. When the master of the house is away at the same time, it can rob those left behind of come of their energy all the more.

It was a dark night. Though clear, there was no moon. It was a ways to the city, so there weren't a lot of artificial lights around. Still, one could see the stars all the better this way.

All around, it was a pleasant night. Several years ago even this place was a scene of war. For it to now be so blessed as to be graced by a silent night such as this, was something once thought all but impossible. It made for a wonderful thing that nights like this were a routine now, rather than an exception; one readily accepted as normal, rather than feared as fleeting.

As a silent black shadow passed far overheard, those below took no real notice. Someone in the city had seen by chance the flicker of starlight. Something had passed overhead just long enough to block out the light for a moment or two. It wasn't anything so much as concerning. Hardly a notice was taken.

For those whose duty it was to guard that vaunted home, there had been no real cause for alarm in quite some time. The most excitement they'd had in years was a squirrel chewing through some exposed cables dug up by some other forest animal foraging for food. They got an earful from their commander about being so lax. But, as she'd later admitted, with as quiet as things had become, perhaps there was an over-relaxation in response to releasing so much pent up stress over the preceding years. For her the answer was to enforce extra training to keep them on their toes. "One bad day is all it takes," she warned them harshly. She'd seen many bad days herself, so she knew what she was talking about. But alas, she was not home this night either.

The master of that house had come into that title only five years earlier. Before then she could most like be described as a homebody in seclusion elsewhere. She hardly ever left her home, rarely ever seen in public. There were good reasons, but nonetheless that was the world she lived then. Now, she was often away from home until relatively late in the evening. She was the number one socialite around now; the hottest ticket money could buy. It was a role she had to grow into for her day job. She usually had fun but lamented the chore at times too. This night was a fundraiser she was attending. She liked these best most often because it felt like there was purpose and meaning behind it. Parties just for parties' sake were bittersweet for her, though some were the most fun she had nowadays and brought back fond memories. She would be returning home under a cloak of darkness, the rocking of the carriage a precursor to easing her into slumber before getting back to work in the morning. She wasn't much a drinker, so that was always a relief. If it weren't part of her job she wouldn't drink at all, as the temptation to overdo it when things were stressful was one she didn't want to test. But most of all it allayed the often mentioned at these parties repercussion of dreading work the next day for the hangover one had after the night of parties.

"What an odd title that would make for," she chuckled to herself as she enjoyed the pleasant night air. Indeed, the Knight of Parties would make for an odd title. It sounded more like an insult granted a knight that liked hanging out at parties to the point of neglecting their duties.

The regular staff had mostly gone home hours earlier. Despite her appearances, or perhaps in spite of them, the master of this house was not inclined to keep a very large staff serving her. It was expected that one of her station would have more people waiting on her hand and foot than she knew what to do with, but she had grown up most of her life not wanting such a thing in the first place.

It had been a long time since that house had seen so genial a master. Past masters of the house were more aggressive, wanton, dare say uncivil. She only asked they do the things she was incapable of doing, not burden with that which she rather not do.

Security was another matter. Were she allowed to manage her own security, the concern was for what would result of it. A past lady of the house was allowed to dictate her own security, and she ended up losing her life. Those close to her fought the current master, forced her to abdicate that responsibility to others, so that she would not have to make such decisions, or by chance repeat the same past mistakes.

But it was a struggle to maintain the edge that such guards required. The five years of service had been notoriously quiet. It was as if the spirit that presided over the world preceding her had come to the conclusion that it wasn't worth it to fight her. That wasn't to say the world itself was perfectly at peace, or even that she was unencumbered by threats and the like. Only, those threats were more plebian than most, and her chief overseers more skilled than their predecessors. But, the general doesn't fight the battle on their own. They rely on their well-trained foot soldiers, common infantry, to carry out the missions that are mundane as well as the ones that are extraordinary.

They hadn't been goofing off, or even neglecting their rounds. But, when a couple of servants came out for some fresh air, it was easy enough for a few guards to come over and carouse with them too. Like the folks who had done the same in the city, they happened to catch sight of a shadow across the pin-dot light of the dark night sky. As was their duty, it concerned them, but only briefly. There was no sound of any mechanical movements, no gears spinning, now engines. It was too quick to be a balloon. There was no sign of contrails, flames of a jet engine's burners. Odd enough to be noticeable, yet unidentifiable and presenting no threat, it was soon put out of mind.

"She should be returning in another half-hour I think," one guard said to one of the servants.

"You think she'll come back with stories about a man who catches her fancy?" one servant tittered.

"Haha, I doubt it," another servant laughed heartily. "If there was a man out there that could woo her, I'm sure we'd know about 'em already."

"We should get things ready for her return home. She's very fond of her tea before bed, and I'm sure she'll be ready to get a nice bath too."

"Yeah," a guard said with a jovial wave. "It's about time for another round anyway. We don't want the Second Flash to come down on us again."

"Is she returning tonight too?" a servant asked as the guards were walking away.

"No. Not till tomorrow I think. She's been taking it easy for once."

As the guards returned to walking the grounds, a small noise caught their attention. It wasn't anything concerning, just… odd. It sounded as though there was a flag flapping in the wind. It was odd, as the flag had been brought in several hours ago, as it was every day at dusk.

Another sound followed. It was a whoosh, like something tossed through the air. That whoosh turned into a roar, like a bonfire being lit. They looked up to see a stream of flames emerge from the darkness in the sky above. It struck the tallest part of the roof and lit it on fire. The flames quickly spread. The guards' faces slowly stretched into a gaunt look of horror.

They gathered themselves and began to scramble back to the building. They had to get everyone inside out of there before the fire spread too far and trapped them. As they were approaching, a massive downdraft pushed the flames outwards, nearly putting them out. The gust was so powerful, it knocked the guards down.

There was then a sound. It was indescribable. It was a roar, that much was certain. But, it wasn't like any beast they'd heard before. It was like the sound of several beasts at once. The building then shook and creaked. Flames erupted once more, crashing through the building and exploding out of the windows. The guards were skewered by a hail of broken glass, splinters of wood the size of a person's arms. Flames raced outwards like a flood of water, engulfing the already mortally wounded guards.

The last thing they saw was a black figure. A beast. Its arms held three long, sharp, claws. It grasped a spire in that claw, a translucent sheath extending from the arm to its body. Its long neck like a kitchen faucet spewed fire in place of water, its angular head ensuring everything was bathed in that flame which billowed taller than the home itself.

The guards saw a person pass by them. Perhaps it was that image that finally carried them away to the next life; the sight of an angel of death.

The city was ten miles from the burning complex, and the light from that burning could still likely be seen ten times further. It was a majestic castle, built in the old style. It had a commanding view of the entire area. It being alit was akin to scaling a mountain and lighting the entire peak ablaze. As late at night as it was, the absence of a moon this night, the light of the fire was the sole commander of the skyline. Those still awake, out on the streets, looked at the visage with trepidation and concern. Five years was not a long time. Only five years ago the old capital was incinerated in an instant. Was this the precursor to another similar incident?

It was already too late to do anything about it if it were. Terror gripped the people who knew enough o be afraid. Yet that they could feel fear was a benediction, a saving word that told them it wasn't as bad yet as they feared. Five years ago, there was no fire to gaze at in the precursor. That they could even contemplate what was going on meant that it wasn't the worst-case scenario. And so their worst fears subdued somewhat, their anxiety remained high, pondering what was going on.

It wasn't long until the scent of the fire began to permeate the city as well. Those still awake in their homes, still shopping in the stores at nine at night, still caught up at work, could pick up the aromas of a building fire; the unique blend of smells of pungent earth, rust, and freshly ironed linen, along with a number of others. It was soon joined by more noxious odors too.

The only place you were like to not see the fire burning was the lone road approaching the home. The fire had not yet spread to the surrounding brush and trees, else they would have seen more than just a bit of illumination over the treelined drive. The irony was that this design was of the intent to make it difficult for intruders to make it up the road without falling to an ambush or secured encampments. It was one of the ideas that went into the construction of the home after the last one was destroyed.

As the carriage carrying the master of the house came to the end of the drive, her home into view, she was horrified at the sight of the whole of it blotted out behind a curtain of fire. The reds and yellows blotted together, set against the pearl whites of the walls now turning ashen and black dust. The vibrant blues like sapphire of the roofs flecked away in the fire, creating an almost bewitching sparkle as the light bounced off the windblown debris.

"Hurry, turn around!" one of the attendants demanded to the driver.

"No, we must go there at once!" she commanded. "We have to see what's happened."

"But it's not safe for you, your majesty."

"If there was an enemy, they would have had to come up this road. We would have seen something like that by now. Hurry, take me to my castle."

When she took her place several years ago, there was only the faintest of inklings that she had the ability to offer such a commanding voice. It lacked somewhat in volume, but made up for it in sternness and authority. One could not readily deny her orders, though one could question if perhaps they should have. Little good would come of having the empress be at the scene of her own castle's burning, regardless the reason for that burning.

But such had been her way these last five years, albeit in less immediately dangerous circumstances. "I've been left out of the way most of my life," she had once said. "Whenever possible, it is my right and duty to be there to act myself, not just allow others to act for me while I remain ignorant and safe."

It was, they knew, a symptom of her past, from when she was younger and had been rendered not even an observer of the world, but only an existence in it. Lame and blind, she could only be cared for by others for almost every aspect of her life. Even her name was taken from her then.

And so her driver and attendant could do little else but obey her word, though the attendant did frantically make calls to alert the nearest Orders of the empress' status. It took only a few more minutes before the carriage reached the end of the road and could only come to a stop before the final path towards the castle.

The path to the castle was an expansive, open, area. There was a series of glistening white stone steps, of the same material as the walls of the castle, that expanded nearly twenty feet across, set in four groupings of about a dozen steps with a large square landing in between each grouping. A ramp straddled either side of the steps in the same basic pattern as the steps, some tolerance on the size of the landing to allow for a smoother incline.

As the young lady exited the carriage by her attendant's aide, her concern was with getting closer to the raging inferno, to see for herself if her great house was really burning once more, or if it were just a terrible illusion.

She froze before getting that far. She'd made it far enough to see the top of the castle. Perched on it, as if the building were its personal nest, was a gargantuan beast. It had likely been eons since creatures so massive walked the earth. But no history book had ever told of a beast like this one. No, it looked more like something out of a fantasy tale. It was more suited for time in memorial in the old country, not her modern-day empire. It was a black beast, with three long, clawed, fingers on each hand, and a membrane between the hands and body to create what were certainly wings. Its skull was elongated, curving down like a beak at the front, extending backwards with a set of horn-like protrusions.

Then it let out a terrible cry, a booming sound that could scare even a pride of lions. It stretched out its neck, opened wide is great maw, and poured out a river of fire into the already inundated castle.

Yet she did not move. She could not move. Her eyes were transfixed to the person that stood a step or two above the landing. It was a woman whose face she knew in her heart she knew, though she shouldn't.

The woman stood two or three inches shy of six feet, but her presence felt much larger than that. Her hair was a dull shade of pink, as if it'd been already coated in the ash that fell like a very, very early snow. Her skin too looked as if it had lost some color, a deathly pale as though she were terrified out of her mind by what she'd seen. But her expression was not that of a victim of this burning, and it was not as a servant of that house that the girl recognized the woman. She had a somewhat quizzical look, as if curious to find herself being looked upon.

A gust of wind kicked up, sweeping the woman's dark plum colored dress, flicking her long hair across her face. But her crystal-like eyes of soft blue-violet never left the master of the house. And her hands never left the hilt of the large black broadsword she was holding, pointed into the stone.

"Perhaps I should say welcome home," the woman said. The sound of her voice sent a chill down the spine of the girl. She swallowed hard, and almost immediately reclaimed her regal comportment.

"Are you the one responsible for this?" she commanded.

"Is that really what you wanted to ask?" the woman replied with a small laugh on her lips. "We haven't seen each other in so long. I would have thought you had other things to ask me first."

"I don't know who you ae. Now, answer my question!"

"All these years, and you still act the same way; making demands and expecting the world will grant them for you. I never did like that about you. That's probably why we always fought all the time back then. And of course you'd run off to your mother or brother. Even you had to grow up one day, I suppose. You must have known the castle was burning, that there might be enemies waiting here for you, and yet you came here anyway."

"You still haven't answered my question." The girl urged.

"Who was it that ruined me, by the way? Certainly, if there was someone whom I would choose to ruin everything of me, he would have been my first choice."

"Shut up! You're… you're…" the girl fumed, incensed into a blind rage.

"There's that temper of yours." The woman said, looking at the girl with scorn. "You get angry, throw a tantrum, and have those around you give you what you want. I would always act like the good girl, the proper princess, and appease you, like everyone else. But, those were blissful days, weren't they? I suppose that is simply what childhood is."

"I don't know you," the girl seethed. "I can't… I could never…"

"I see. Perhaps you haven't grown as much as I thought. It doesn't matter. Today was merely a visit, little sister. I just wanted to say hello. Next time… next time will probably be different."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've been watching patiently the last five years. I've been waiting to see what would come of the efforts of our dear brother. To be direct, I'm terribly disappointed. I've grown tired of waiting. It seems if I wait too much longer, things will deteriorate to a point beyond repair. You've presided over a rotting world. Now it falls to my dragons and I to fix things."

"What are you saying? Killing those people in the castle, how could that save anyone?"

"A demonstration of my power and will was necessary. This world that is absent faith and mercy must perish so it can be reborn into the sort of world our brother and I once dreamed of together."

"Stop saying that!" the girl erupted. "What you're saying is madness! And you don't know anything about me and my brother!"

"I don't need you to believe me, or understand me," the woman stated with a stern glare. The beast on the castle's roof lifted itself into the air, the beat of its wings fanning the furnace and washing steaming hot air over them. It landed at the top of the steps just behind the woman, a low growl in its throat.

"I moved beyond all that a long time ago," the woman continued. A light grew in her eyes. It was a light that the girl knew all too well, and fiercely chilled her as though she were in a frigid arctic pool rather than dozens of yards from an inferno. In each eye was that dreadful symbol of sparkling crimson, the sigil of a bird. "All you need to do is stay out of the way. It's merely coincidence you weren't home when I set fire to the castle. It won't be a coincidence if you happen to get in my way."

The dragon lowered its head to the ground. The woman spun around, plucking up her sword as if it were a mere prop. She climbed atop the dragon's head, the beast raising its head once more. It let out a final deafening roar, beat its mighty wings, and rose up into the black sky.

The girl's eyes teared up as she watched it fly off. Anger, sadness, and smoke, mixed to send tributaries of salt water down her cheeks. But such small rivulets would not quench the flames that ruined her home, nor save the lives of those who might still be clinging to life. And they would certainly be no bulwark against what that woman claimed to have planned. So in spite the tears she shed, the girl set about her duty, ordering communications with the capital defense order, the emergency response teams, and a number of other arms of her authority.

There was a time when it would have been odd to see this girl carry on with such things, not least of all because she had once been stripped of her right to the throne, and for several years she was thought dead. But once ascending to the throne several years ago, doubt had waned.

"They will question my ability," she thought as she waited helplessly for aide to arrive. "In many ways this burning castle could well be my future too. Is that all our family's fate amounts to now, one burning after another? Is this the way we're meant to atone? I… wish my brother was here to help me. I know he would know what to do. I miss him…"


	2. Chapter 2 - Bloodstained Love

Bloodstained Love

Suzaku walked into the room quickly, his cape snapping in the air behind him. "What is the situation?" he demanded. "How is the empress?"

"Our communications are a bit jumbled, but from what we've heard, Empress Nunnally is safe at the moment."

"How did enemies manage to breach the defense around the imperial castle? What was the guard doing?"

"We're still trying to assess. Frankly, the reports we've been given don't make a lot of sense."

"Zero!" another man said in a panic, half out of breath from apparently running in with whatever information he'd gathered.

"What is it?"

"We've received confirmation from the unit guarding the empress."

"Is she safe?"

"The empress is unharmed… however…"

"What?" Suzaku asked, impatiently.

"They are affirming the details of the other reports we've received. I strongly suggest we immediately begin information control measures. We need to censor media reports quickly, before they get a hold of this story themselves."

"Will someone just tell me what's going on already?" Suzaku loudly demanded. Everyone froze, the room getting silent.

"Reports claim… that a large black object was seen in the night sky. The lack of any engine noise or exhaust did not alert anyone to the potential of any weapon. The object was seen in the western sky of Pendragon, proceeding east towards the imperial castle. Several minutes later the first calls went out of the castle being engulfed in flames, and the claims that a black dragon was responsible."

"A… dragon?" Suzaku questioned with incredulity. "I don't have time for stupid…."

"I just spoke directly to Empress Nunnally's guard, which was with her and arrived at the scene of the inferno. They confirm the description and identification of the cause of the blaze as being a black dragon nearly as large as the castle itself.

"They further claim to have encountered and spoken with an individual who apparently commanded the attack. The physical description of the individual, as well as the name the individual gave, is that of the late Third Princess, Euphemia li Britannia."

It was a noisy silence. No one seemed to even breathe, but you could almost hear the buzz of their minds racing through a flurry of thoughts, questions of what could possibly be going on. "And you heard this supposed report from…?"

"It was by the empress herself," the messenger stated.

Suzaku bowed his masked face, staring straight down at the table before him. His fingers slowly clenched into balled fists, and just as slowly relaxed again. He was careful not to let his sigh be heard as he raised his head up again.

"Gather all the support that can be mustered and send them to assist in securing the safety of the empress. Send whoever we have left to assist in the rescue and recovery efforts at the castle.

"I want the information about this event completely sealed off. No one outside of this room or currently with her majesty is to hear a word about what has happened unless I or her majesty permits it directly.

"We have an unknown enemy with a weapon of incredible power. What's more, they've decided to commit the unforgivable act of masquerading as Princess Euphemia li Britannia who died several years ago. Buying into their trick, allowing tales of their treason to spread, is only giving them what they want. We will stop them, and preserve the peace that so many struggled, fought, and died, for us to achieve."

His Order responded to the strength of his words by flying into action to make it real. The room was once again a hive of activity as calls were being made to scattered forces, and to contacts with influence in the broad media landscape. It was going to be a tough haul, however, exercising information control. A place like the imperial castle was not apt to be completely unmonitored by the media, even at night. All it would take is one reporter, one cameraman, for the story to slip out to the rest of the world. For that matter, any loose-lipped member of the royal guard, any common citizen who happened to be out and near enough the castle to see anything, could upset the entire applecart and start spreading rumors.

"_We can't let that happen,_" Suzaku seethed to himself. He knew, rather felt it instinctually, the moment he heard mention of the name Euphemia. Not a word of this allegation could be heard by the rest of the world. Not a soul could be allowed to hear that Euphemia li Britannia, regardless of being a fake, had committed the unimaginable and doused the imperial castle in an ocean of fire.

When Pendragon last burned, it was a brief, quick, fire. The Sword of Damocles descended and wrought untold destruction in an instant, burning away all below it in a flame as hot as several suns. But it ended in an instant and left nothing but a scoured earth where a capital and its castle once stood. The new castle, raised from the ashes near where the old one was once razed, was now like a funeral pyre, burning for near an hour now.

In many ways, Euphemia was a spark that lit that past flame. It was Lelouch's desire to redeem her, to rehabilitate her image in the eyes of the world, that he sought to be known as a tyrant of far worse ilk than his dear sister had come to be known for the massacre his power inadvertently led her to commit. He wanted to wipe the memory of the "Massacre Princess" from people's minds by becoming a demon king. And to rid the world of the demon king, those that opposed him reacted with even greater forces and barbarism. And thus the sword fell. And so a battle to end all battles was fought. And in the end, the king was slain, an empress crowned, and a new castle risen. The fall of the last castle was a consequence of that massacre, begun by the hands of one princess.

To raise the specter of her name once more would be to revive the fear, dread, hatred, that came with it. The wounds of the Massacre Princess were still fresh. It wouldn't take much to reopen them. To have her name attached to such a clarion blow against the new peace brought by Empress Nunnally, such an audacious and brilliant attack, would be beyond redemptive. Her name would be forever tarnished; synonymous with madness, death, and destruction.

As Suzaku and his entourage neared the hangar, the sound of the base's alarms filled the air. Before anyone had a chance to even make the cognitive recognition of what the alarm meant, the entire building rattled violently, as if it were scooped up and shaken like a baby's rattle. There was a beastly cry, though none of them could confess to having any prior recognition of what creature exactly the cry could belong to.

There was another shake, smaller this time. This one was distinctly familiar to most of them as that of an explosion. But it was from a distance away. It was likely near to one of the power relay facilities, or near enough to damage it, as the lights flickered in the switch over to the auxiliary lines. Wherever it originated from was far enough away that no smoke was making its way towards the hangar just yet. But that optimistic thinking lasted merely a moment.

As they gathered themselves and continued to the hangar, Suzaku radioed for information. Just a few feet from the end of the hall, before he could reach anyone on the radio, another seismic shake struck, this one much closer. A corner of the hangar collapsed, sending a cloud of dust and debris racing through the hall. The workers in the hangar were scrambling, trying to put out fires before fuel lines could ignite, rescue those injured by the collapsed ceiling, and finish the preparations for the transports and Knightmares to be scrambled, assuming their pilots could make it to the cockpit.

Again, a bestial roar boomed out, this time so close it could not be mistaken for anything else. From the hole opened in the roof, a black shadow was outlined against the night sky. It was difficult to discern its features as dust plumed past the opening. Suddenly, Suzaku had a bad feeling. It was a feeling he'd become familiar with several years ago, but had since had rare occasion to feel anew – the compulsion towards self-preservation the Geass of his old friend imparted on him. Perhaps that separation of time was why the feeling was so strong.

"Run!" he shouted as loud as he could, darting back into the hall and sprinting away from the hangar. His sudden declaration caused a number of his men to freeze in place, rather than run away as he ordered. A fierce heat soon whipped at the backs of those who ran. The fear kept them from daring to look back at the cause. There was the sound of more explosions, the fuel stores erupting. Even the fuel in the vehicles had likely been ignited.

The only thing that saved Suzaku and those that followed his lead was the collapse of the hallway behind them as they fled. Two unfortunate souls were not quite fast enough and wound up buried in the rubble. Several men tried in rank desperation to grab at the debris to free their comrades. Their efforts were rewarded by severe burns to their hands. The crumbled wall was so hot to the touch, it looked to have already melted back together in some places.

"What the hell's going on?" one of the men yelled.

"We'll head to the armory," Suzaku ordered. "It's not too far from here, and we can gather weapons before we try to leave. If we go out without any weapons, we'd just be sitting ducks for the enemy. Let's go."

What would have normally been a two or three-minute walk was taking much longer now. The power was out, the auxiliary system taken out at about the time the hangar was hit and that hall collapsed. Ever since then, there had been additional sporadic explosions. And that beastly bellow. Every time it resounded it sent a frigid chill to the bone, as if dread and terror were reaching right into your body.

With only the light of a phone to guide their way, they made it to the armory. They had to bust the locks to get the lockboxes opened, no time to even think about searching for a key. Suzaku and the half-dozen or so survivors each armed themselves with assault rifles and a couple handguns, plus some extra ammunition. Without having to say a word, they knew they were setting up for a siege.

Once they made it outside, they were expecting to have to run-and-gun their way past an enemy encirclement, seeking refuge at the nearest location away from all these burning buildings. Chances were they would have to rely on surprise, hope the enemy would assume everyone was already dead in the surprise attack. Using that, they would head for the nearby annex. It was a mostly unused section of the base, but it should have had at least a few trucks that they could use to make a run for it. It wouldn't be anything to fight with, but they were looking only to escape at the moment. With an attack of this magnitude, it shouldn't have been long before there were reinforcements sent to confirm the situation. Buying enough time for that rescue to arrive was the main goal and focus.

It had to have been a Knightmare. A new model perhaps. That was the only thing Suzaku could imagine was able to cause so much destruction so quickly. That was some measure of relief. The layout, location, surroundings, of the base were chosen specifically to repel, and allow escape from, attacks by enemies in Knightmare Frames. The terrain would be easier for a small target like a truck to navigate and flee than if they tried to jump in a Knightmare right now. There were tunnels that could be used if the base were under a full siege, but given the explosions thus far, it was doubtful that any of those passages were free to traverse. And there was no way of circling back to the hangar and hoping the Knightmares there weren't destroyed. Once outside they could make that assessment a little better, but given the sounds of explosions, and the heat that was behind them, it wasn't a likely bet that even his Lancelot was safe. He was confident, of course, that had he been in the Lancelot he could beat any opponent. But those thoughts were all but useless at the moment.

It had taken nearly ten minutes to get to the armory, and almost that much time again to make it to the nearest exit. It was almost surreal how little damage there was to this part of the sprawling base. The percussion of explosions and roars had died down too, now that they were farther away from the origin. Still… those roars.

"_What is that?_" Suzaku kept asking himself each time he heard it. It didn't sound mechanical. That had been the first thought. The attack, surely, had to have been by enemy Knightmare Frames. It only made sense, then, that any foreign sound not recognized of the base would have to be from the enemy units. But what technology would lead to a Knightmare making such a sound?

His mind kept returning to the report on the attack on the castle. That too, he had thought, had to have been the work of nothing more than clever enemies who snuck Knightmares past the imperial guards to launch their assault. But there were reports of a dragon.

But dragons don't exist. Whatever it was that they saw at the castle, it wasn't a dragon. And it wasn't Euphie. The woman that was once known as Euphemia li Britannia no longer existed. Whatever was seen at the castle was nothing more than mistaken identity, on both accounts of the so-called dragon and its master.

Once they made it outside, it was like a scene from hell. Everything looked to be on fire. Even the roof just above them they now realized was likely moments from collapsing in on them, it too currently roasting. This, they thought, was no average attack by any Knightmare. What destruction there seemed to be looked to mainly originate from intense heat. It was as if the entire area were simply bathed in intense heat and flames.

And looming just ahead of them, seemingly waiting for them to emerge, was a large ashen black beast. It sat on the ground like a crouching statue, its long neck arching its horned head in their direction. With a low, guttural, grumble, hot air as if from a furnace swept over them, sending two of them dropping to their butts. The black beast had a tail like a whip, long and thin, the tip lazily licking the air back and forward. Its front limbs were a part of the construct that formed its wings. The apex of each one was a three-fingered claw. It was a truly imposing creature right out of the most terrifying of fairytales.

They were frozen in place before the beast. It had occurred to them that they should have been already dead. The dragon could have instantly roast them on the spot, and they had no recourse in defending or evading. If there were any mercy to be had, it was in knowing that, given the heat this creature was exuding, death would be all but instant.

Yet it did not attack them. It was clearly aware of them. It was staring at them, like a guard dog watching the door. Every movement one of them made, even if it were a nervous twitch or a weak-kneed collapse to the ground, the dragon's head tracked them. One man, desperate and frustrated, made to raise his assault rifle. The dragon responded with a verbose roar and robbed the man, and else the rest of them, the will or courage to try and move a muscle.

"_It's not going to do anything unless we do_," Suzaku thought. It wasn't any sage analysis or guessing of the mental calculations of a creature he was sure until a moment ago never lived. It was still that feeling. It was the legacy of his best friend. It was telling him that he was alright, so long as they didn't try anything. It wanted them to wait right there. Yet, if they did wait, what then? Waiting clearly meant someone or something else was coming. That wasn't likely to improve their situation any. Knowing nothing of where this beast came from, the frightening prospect flickered past his mind that this could have been a youngster, a small one, waiting for its mother or father, a truly giant beast, to come.

Just barely audible above the whooshing crackle of the infernos all around, there was a scream. It was a clear shrill, that changed to a stuttered gargle. Then it was gone. As if equally curious as the humans, the dragon turned its head to the side to look in the direction of the death throughs. Silhouetted against the backdrop of a literal wall of flame – what used to be a grounds maintenance shed – was a figure. It looked, through the hazy air, as though the person was holding a cane, standing near a pile of rubble. But the cane looked a bit odd, as though it were too bulky to be a common walking stick. Then they pulled up what at first looked to be a cane, and whipped it to the side. That single fluid motion was indicative of a blade, and the realization was instant. The person was not holding a cane, but a sword. And that had not been a pile of rubble, but the corpse of a member of the Order, more than likely ended by means of being chased down and impaled by that sword.

The figure began to walk their direction. The dragon moved too. With slightly clumsy steps, the beast beat its wings as if to attempt to lift itself with only faint effort. It made a jostling movement towards the approaching killer, circling around behind them.

When the enemy came close enough, Suzaku's heart sank. It didn't make a lot of sense for him to feel quite so crestfallen. Was he heartbroken to see the killer face-to-face? Or was he just so relieved to lay eyes on them?

The entire time, since he started towards the hangar to leave for the capital, he was telling himself there was no way that Euphemia could be alive. There was no way that Euphie would attack anyone, let alone the castle her sisters called home. But part of him was hopeful. Part of him didn't care how or why, so long as she was back. To see her again was the dearest wish he held for the longest time. It took him a long time to admit to himself it was impossible, even as he told others he already knew it.

Seeing this woman dressed in black, her long auburn hair flittering in the gusty scorched wind, Suzaku could be happy that it wasn't his dearest princess Euphie. His love had not committed an act to further tarnish her reputation, loft herself into a new stratosphere of villainy by returning from the dead just to commit fresh atrocities.

But he was sad to freshly be made to realize that desire to see Euphie would not be realized.

But he was sad, and frightened, to see the familiar face of one Shirley Fenette, a friend who died more than five years ago.


	3. Chapter 3 - Blowout

**Blowout**

He couldn't confess to knowing her particularly well, and there was no way she would know who he really was under that mask. But that was putting the cart before the horse he thought to himself almost immediately. It was almost an instinctual reaction – she's dead.

Shirley Fenette was a girl Suzaku met when he was briefly a student of Ashford Academy. The girl her remembered had a sunny disposition, was an athletic star of the swim team, and a favorite plaything of the student council president and granddaughter of the school's founder, Milly Ashford. She was one of the first to welcome him into the school when everyone else was shunning him as Japanese in the ethnically segregated era of Britannia's rule over Japan. She was the one who held a not-so-secret crush on his best friend, Lelouch. She had been one of the closest friends to Nunnally.

And she died.

It had happened in the halls of a mall in the Tokyo Settlement. Lelouch, Suzaku later learned, had learned that it was Rolo, the fake brother Charles zi Britannia stuck next to him as a spy after altering his memories with his Geass. Shirley had once figured out Lelouch was Zero. Lelouch had used his Geass on her to make her forget all about him, a bid not only to protect his secret, but to erase her inner turmoil of both loving him as Lelocuh and hating him as Zero, the man who killed her father. She had once more regained those memories, and Rolo killed her to preserve Lelouch's secret – or so Rolo had said.

It all was called into question now, at least potentially, with this woman who looked so much like Shirley standing before him with a large sword in front of her, a large creature behind her. She was wearing a style of clothing he recognized from his days as a child before Britannia invaded Japan; something entirely unusual for the Shirley he knew to wear. Wealthy, Suzaku only ever recalled seeing her in the school's uniform or stylish western clothes of Britannia, not eastern clothes of old Japan. Was it possible she knew who he really was under the mask, that she was mocking him by wearing that red short kimono beneath that opened, black, Europa-style officer's coat? The sword too was definitely a Japanese style katana, albeit the handle far longer and more ornate than any traditional blade. It was also incredibly long, appearing around two-thirds her height.

"It's been a really long time, hasn't it?" she said, walking closer to Suzaku.

Was she meaning Zero, or Suzaku, he wondered. He had to gather his thoughts and calm down again. The shock was getting to him. He had to return to the basics of reality. Meaning, he had to return to the fact that Shirley Fenette was dead. This person was not her, regardless of the face and voice they had. Even if Shirley had lived, it'd already been five years. There was no way she could look the same as she did then. "I'm afraid you're mistaken," Suzaku answered back.

"Is that your answer as the fake Zero, or as the man playing the fake Zero?" she taunted, suggesting she without a doubt knew his secret.

Defying her, he replied back, "I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

All of a sudden there was an incredible pain in his leg. He looked down in disbelief to see her sword plunged deep into his thigh, slowly being removed. The sudden aggression was only a secondary concern. More shocking was that there was no warning from his curse. Even if he might not have had time to react, for it not to even warn him that he was in danger was not normal.

One of Suzaku's remaining men jumped at Shirley, thinking to disarm and restrain her. He'd liked to have killed her had he had a weapon on him to do so. Instead he was met with the point of her sword, tucked neatly against his Adam's Apple.

"When was the last time you talked with anyone from school? Besides Nunnally of course?" she asked, looking at Suzaku with a smile.

"I think you're…" before he could finish, she pushed the sword forward, the man choking and gasping as his blood filled his mouth and lungs. He desperately grabbed at the sword, slicing up his own hands in an attempt to pull free of the sword despite the strength quickly leaving his body. Suzaku was immediately filled with rage and contempt, who she was or might have been all at once leaving his mind as part of any consideration.

"Hey, do they know it's really you under that mask, Suzaku?" she asked, letting the man slide off her sword and whipping it free of his blood. "Euphie said they wouldn't, but I was really curious if that was true."

"You're mistaken. Suzaku Kururugi died several years ago, sent to hell before his master," Suzaku refuted, as he'd practiced in his head a thousand times since that time.

"Is that supposed to be a joke, Suzaku? Because it's not very funny," she said cheerfully enough, pacing to Suzaku's other side. She raised her sword up and brought it down through the body of another of Suzaku's knights. He could feel their blood spray him.

"Stop it!" he demanded. "Are you just going to kill someone every time you don't get the answer you want?"

"Don't be silly, Suzaku; they're all going to die no matter what. I just wanted to talk to you for a little while. I wasn't expecting to see you here, after all. And it's not like I get the chance to talk to any of our friends from Ashford. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely despise you, but you're the only one here I know and I'm not allowed to kill."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Euphie made it very clear; I can kill as many people here as I want, but I'm not allowed to kill you, Suzaku. I'm sure she's just being selfish and wants you for herself, but I did promise her. She can be a little scary when she gets serious. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, though. You knew her much better than I could."

"I don't know who you are, but the Shirley I knew didn't joke about death so casually," Suzaku said through pained restraint.

"It is funny. It wasn't until I died that I finally understood why Milly loved having so many parties and festivals and events all the time. She was so much more mature than the rest of us who thought she was just being childish. She realized that we were all living in a nightmarish hell where we could die at any time for any reason. All she was trying to do was make sure that she could give some folks fun and excitement before their miserable lives came to an end. I wasted so much time worrying about whether I should tell Lelouch how I felt, or worrying what other people thought of me. But look how I died – killed in a hallway at a mall just because I happened to know a secret. Look at Euphemia, every good and kind deed in her life wiped away in an instant.

"So what the hell was the point!?" she screamed in a sudden manic outburst. "What the hell was the point of living that stupid goody-goody life!? Why the hell did I bother being nice to a traitor like you, who tried to kill the man I loved!? What did I get out of any of it!? Dead and forgotten… that's all I was!

"Hey, Suzaku. Did Lelouch talk about me often? Probably not, right? Knowing him, he probably didn't talk about anything but Nunna-chan," she asked, her tone flipping like a switch back to the more genial and friendlier one of before.

Suzaku didn't want to hear where this was going. He could tell without her uttering the actual words. If nothing else he didn't want to be forced to condemn her for stating she planned on committing regicide. "So is this part of your plan? Were you hoping to cripple the Order?"

"No, not at all. I was with Euphie, and I was getting a little upset, so she said I could come here and destroy it if I wanted. I didn't know you were here at all," she answered with all the jovial charm she had when she was a high school student.

"Don't get me wrong, Suzaku," she continued. "I hate you. I would love to kill you right now. But, I almost screwed up since that was the one thing Euphie told me not to do. I hate her too, but I can't kill her. And I can't kill you. She's the only one that can kill you. And no one can kill her. So, I'll just finish what I was doing and you can go do whatever it is you were going to do."

"Why do this?" Suzaku urged, knowing she was a moment away from raising that sword against the only remaining member of the Order at this base.

"It's a test."

"A test?"

"I grew up believing in Britannia. Even though it did many awful things, I believed in the Holy Britannia Empire. But my faith was tested. I was taught that if I was a good person, if I did the right thing, then good things would happen to me. Instead, I suffered, and I was killed. People like Emperor Charles said people should hate and steal from each other whenever they wanted. People could discriminate all they wanted. You killed so many people over your own ideals, regardless of what anyone would tell you. You blamed Lulu and turned him over to Emperor Charles, even when you knew what happened to Euphie that day was an accident, ignoring what the emperor was doing. And in the end, it was you who killed Lelouch. Yet you're still here. Alive. Why?

"Why did I hold myself back all that time, if I could just do whatever I wanted and gotten more out of life? If it's the killers, the racists, the elitists, the greedy, and selfish of all stripes, who get to live the longest, enjoy life the most, while the decent and proper are the first to die, why should I hold back my true self anymore?

"So, I'll hate as much as I want, and kill as much as I want. I will test the limits of the new life my goddess has given me, in anticipation of the renewal that's on its way." A dark sneer went from ear to ear as she leaned in and glared at Suzaku. Her olive-green eyes had a mysterious shine to them as they caught the firelight that whipped all around them. Suzaku felt like he was staring at a caged beast, the invisible bars of whatever promise she had been talking about earlier being the only thing keeping her from ripping him to shreds that instant. For the moment, he had to hope those bars held firm, a proposition he wasn't entirely sure would pan out.

"What are you saying?" he ventured to ask.

"Oops, looks like time's almost up. I've gotta go. See you around, Suzaku," she answered, stepping back from Suzaku.

For a moment Suzaku was glad enough she was going. He hadn't gotten any answers at all, but if she was going to leave, that left him with at least his life and that of one of his knights.

That relief was quickly dashed. She looked over her shoulder, dragged the sword around, and plunged it into the chest of the last of Suzaku's men as if preparing a skewer. With the ease of lifting a toothpick, she raised the man up into the air on her sword. His body flinched, small groans emanating from his mouth as he seemed to want to beg for help. The great black beast careened its neck to get its head at an angle below the man. It spit a stream of hot flames, the first live proof Suzaku had seen that this was the cause of the fires that ravaged and engulfed his base. In an instant, every piece of clothing the man wore was turned to ash. His body was charred, left smoldering on the end of that sword like a burned roast fresh from an oven. And then, almost as quickly as the sword had pierced his sternum, the man was gone, snatched off the end of the sword by the beast, flung a short way into the air, and chomped down.

The monster in the form of Shirley Fenette had a happy smile as the monster in the form of a mythical dragon snapped its jaws a couple times in an almost mocking way. Of all the things painful about that moment, the most painful for Suzaku was the look on that Shirley's face. He'd seen that look before. It hadn't stood out at all before that moment. But seeing her smile like that, after having done something so grotesque, he was instantly reminded of an inconsequential moment when they were all together in the student council room and Shirley began playing with the unofficial mascot of the student council, a small cat named Arthur. He couldn't recall what the specifics were, but the conversation at the time had shifted to something or other about Lelouch. That effortlessly, natural, joyful smile that Shirley had at that time back in the student council was indistinguishable from that of the woman who just murdered scores of people.

With a couple light taps to the side of the head, the dragon lowered itself to the ground and allowed her to climb atop. It beat its wings, swooping upwards into the air in a single fluid motion, and soon was climbing higher and higher out of sight.

As the cavalry arrived, they could be forgiven for thinking the gates of hell had opened up and was spilling out into the world. Seeing a lone tall figure walking down the road as fire and heat whipped at their back, the surrounding forest creepingly engulfed in the inferno, you could forgive some for believing the devil himself had risen up to walk the earth.

Geared for a fight, figuratively and literally, two detachments were deployed from the Britannia Imperial Military to respond to the reports of attack on the local base of the Order of the Black Knights. Given the news of an attack and blaze at the imperial castle, there was ample concern about just what enemy had audaciously made such a spectacular opening to what surely was a new war. The person walking down the road now surely must have been a part of the secret army that boldly chose to attack a military base of the most prominent military force in Britannia.

When they got closer and saw it instead to be the leader of the Order, Zero, his helmet and clothes smattered in blood, the complexion of the incident changed. It wasn't just a bold and audacious attack that was being met by a potent response. Something worse had to have been the case for Zero to be simply walking down the road.

In hours, some wee hours of the early morning, the fires would all be put out. The base would be deemed a complete and total loss, every facility blown and burnt out. Every Knightmare Frame the base held was either severely damaged by falling debris, or, as in most cases, highly degraded due to extreme heat. Some reports stated that Knightmares looked as though the most powerful industrial torch sat on limbs and melted its way through them. It was an effective way of disabling Knightmares, there's no doubt, but impractical to consider given the time necessary to do so.

No survivors were found, save the dejected hero of the revolution, Zero. The recovery of the bodies began at first light. It was a gruesome and frustrating process, less so than how undeniably maddening it was. Almost every form of death a body could be found in, they were found in. There were people burnt to unrecognizable crisps. There were some crushed under various forms of debris. There were some stabbed to death, while others were dismembered apparently while running for their lives. There was even a man found boiled to death; later investigation supposed he was in the shower when the attack began, the water superheated and leading to the pipe bursting, dousing him in the boiling water and steam.

There was a temporary field office setup a few miles from the Order's base. They had thought they were responding to a full-on military attack, so rushed together a site from which to respond. It may have seemed like a colossal waste of time and resources now, but given the attack on the castle barely over an hour earlier, they couldn't well take for granted that it wasn't something major.

Even now, there wasn't a lot of clarity on what the threat was or how to respond. Zero might not have held the title of knight, but he was understood to be of rank equal to the former Knights of the Round. In other words, if he said something was classified and he couldn't speak about it, you didn't press too hard on the matter.

In truth, Suzaku just wasn't sure how to speak about it. He'd sound like he was suffering PTSD or psychosis or something if he started talking about being attacked by a dragon controlled by a girl who died almost six years ago. So, for now, he was left to bide his time. Until he could talk to Nunnally directly, privately, he didn't want to say too much to anyone.

With the focus being on search and rescue, and putting out the fire before it ate up the city, he did have a narrow window of time to compose himself and think some. It had been a little after midnight when he was given a cursory exam by the medical staff at the temporary outpost. He got a lecture from the doctor about not being a robot, and not letting public accolades go to his head. HE didn't really understand why he was being lectured at first, only realizing partway through the treatment that he had all but forgotten he'd had a sword plunged through his leg. By whatever luck or design it had missed the bone and any critical muscle damage. But the doctor assured him he would be walking with a limp for a while and could risk permanent damage if he stressed it too much.

Around two hours later, they were told they were redeploying to the Assembly Hall. If it were rush hour during the week, the trip from where they were to the Assembly Hall would have been almost an hour and a half in grueling traffic. It was a third of that in the middle of the night.

He'd received word that Nunnally had been urged to rest once the situation at the castle was under control. She had been busy all day long, and then insisted on taking control of the response when she returned to her home burning. Few if any considered her to be as fragile as she was perceived back when she was fresh to the world as the long-lost princess thought dead for years. Still, she wasn't exactly thought to be a superman either. It did no good for anyone, in this moment of chaotic confusion, for the nation's empress to unnecessarily run the risk of collapsing from exhaustion. Suzaku wasn't sure who convinced her majesty to get a bit of sleep – he himself was intending to reassure her when he was preparing to leave before the attack on his Order – but he had to assume she had made contact with Cornelia. After all, there weren't a lot of people who could tell the empress to go to bed and she actually listen.

It was around five in the morning when Suzaku was walking through the halls of the Assembly building. He'd tried getting a bit of rest, but his restless mind wouldn't allow it. By now too the pain in his leg was bothering him, so he went to the temporary medical area to get some painkillers. It was less reassuring and more distressing to see how virtually empty the place was. He knew it wasn't because some miracle saw few people injured. It was because they weren't finding survivors to be treated here.

He then tried to get info on what was going on, but was only hearing loud frustration by civil and military intelligence officers struggling to make sense of the fact that there was no information to be had. Strictly speaking he could have allayed a few of their frustrations, but not without divulging information he considered best kept secret for now.

He was making sure to stay away from the windows, the swarm of media understandably fierce, and already drumming up a negative narrative over the fact that several hours after the imperial castle was set ablaze there was no info coming about the cause. Lelouch once told him about a guy who would have likely been deliberately spinning things in the light most likely to provoke emotions in the audience… if that guy were alive to still be working in the industry. It did make him wonder how Milly was doing. He could remember watching her live coverage of the scene after Lelouch's death. That brought with it its own sting as well, wondering how she was holding up now knowing that Nunnally had been targeted in such an egregious way.

There wasn't a whole lot to be done to help it, so Suzaku could only walk the Assembly building. Despite the excess and faults, the loss of the nobility in Schneizel's Damocles attack on the capital years ago was not insignificant. These were the people who operated much of Britannia on a daily basis. Though Lelouch had stripped them of their titles, they still had jobs as finance ministers, education ministers, and so on. A nation as big and complex as Britannia, even under an authoritarian monarchy, still has numerous others whose job it is to manage and settle all number of affairs from the trite and mundane, to the grand and crucial. They may have had those working under them, all bureaucracies do, but organizations fall into disarray and chaos over time the longer they go without leadership.

Nobility isn't so easy to replace. In a sense it is. The system of nobility is beautifully simple in that regard; oldest living child, then to siblings if no children, then parents' siblings, etc.

But the Damocles and the FLEIJA it launched complicated things greatly. It wasn't just that department minister who was burned away, but all their siblings, and children, and parents, and nieces and nephews, and aunts and uncles. The line of succession wasn't just cut, it was incinerated, along with most of their deputies, the folks at the ground level, and the facilities they used.

You don't merely start naming people to the ranks of nobility, handing out titles like a business hands out fliers. More so because of the way the line was vaporized, that the chaos of a thoroughly gutted bureaucracy came to be, you needed smart, creative, thoughtful individuals to rebuild. And if you couldn't get these because they were all either dead or ran from you like you had the plague, then you settled for the best you could get, considerations of birthright be damned.

So, after the war, and the fall of the Demon Emperor, this was what remained – a vestige of his democratic feint. The Assembly, a subservient branch of the imperial government, chosen by the people and serving at the pleasure of the empress. At the moment, it was her pleasure to make their office building her home, on account of her own home being charred slag.

The sounds of fanfare outside could only mean that she was arriving home now. It was slightly depressing for Suzaku to think about. Even assuming she slept the whole ride over and had awoken merely moments ago, that still meant barely three or four hours of sleep for her. And considering the secret they were currently sharing, he couldn't help but imagine she had far less ease resting her mind than he had resting his.

If she was arriving now, she was likely not going to wait long to be told what was going on. It'd save them both the stress if he went to her right away, he figured.

As he was coming around a corner, someone ran right into him. A blizzard of papers flew around, a tablet clattering to the floor. If he'd been more focused he wouldn't have bumped someone like that in the first place, but he managed to catch them so that neither had to tumble to the floor.

"Ah, excuse me, I'm so sorry." The woman he bumped into apologized as he cradled her. "I was in a hurry and wasn't paying attention."

"Nina… Einstein." Suzaku said with a soft voice.


	4. Chapter 4 - Breathe In Breathe Out

**Breathe In, Breathe Out**

In some ways, Nina Einstein was the most powerful figure in the world. It was just that no one really knew it. In many ways she was the most infamous person alive. It was just that no one seemed to care about it.

Nina had long found displeasure in that remarkable aspect of herself to be rather unremarkable. She had the uncanny ability to go unnoticed. It was both a curse and a blessing. It made for a lonely life when you could do your best each day, and never receive any recognition for those efforts. But, it was because of this that she wasn't trumpeted as a monster on the level of Charles zi Britannia or Lelouch vi Britannia. As the maker of the worst weapon humanity had ever seen, she thought she probably got off light for her role in the deaths of countless millions.

That regret, in a morose way, was probably what helped her recognition in the public psyche. She only made the weapon. If she were to be hated, why not then hate Nunnally who pressed the trigger, Zero who instigated so much of the strife?

Nina had thought like this for a time, berating those around her over the regrets she held in her heart. Many knew that a major source of her anger and depression was an uncommon love she held for the late Euphemia li Britannia.

A shy and mousy girl, it was easy for Nina to get swept into the orbit of those of stronger personalities. Their gravity pulled her in and kept her close, and their radiance focused all attention on them, away from her. That girl who could be so unremarkable, who so often went unrecognized for her actions, was finally recognized by someone. The circumstance was uncommon, and it wasn't direct. But in Euphemia she found a different radiance that was stronger, more pure, than anything she'd known before. From this was born an infatuation that led to her becoming inconsolably depressed at the death of Euphemia.

Zero was the one who killed her. For that, he was a vile and inhuman enemy to be killed at any cost. Thinking like that, she created a weapon that without question could render him no means of escape from justice; a weapon capable of harnessing a bit of the power of the sun, and burn away the sins attested to H_er_ radiant light.

But that was years ago now. The man who was Zero was now dead, and the man who was Zero standing before her had killed him.

Zero was a living myth; an enigma. He appeared out of nowhere, challenged Britannia, was blamed for countless crimes, was revealed to be Lelouch vi Britannia, and ultimately killed Lelouch vi Britannia. Logically, there was no way this could all have been done by one person. That truth was instinctively known. But at some point, people gave up wondering who Zero really was. So he became a living legend; a man eternally shrouded in mystery, wearing a mask, symbolizing justice.

Suzaku always felt a bit awkward around her nowadays. After Nunnally ascended to the throne, and she absolved Nina of any crimes related to her service to Prince Schneizel and Emperor Lelouch, Nina assumed a discrete job as a chief research scientist and advisor for the empress. Essentially, anytime a scientific question came up, it was run by her to get an answer. The gamut of topics was wide ranging, but she seemed genuinely happy doing the work.

But the awkwardness Suzaku felt had little to do with her work. Nina hated Zero. Zero was the man who killed Euphemia. She hated Lelouch because Lelouch was Zero. She had forgiven Lelouch, believing his story about the cause of Euphemia's death, and his desire to cleanse her name. She still hated Lelouch because that feeling of loss had never left her.

Nina, as one of a handful of such folks in the world, knew who the person under the mask of Zero was. She was integral in Lelouch's plan to stop his elder brother, rescue his little sister, as the one that came up with the counter to the very weapon she created. For a brief moment in time, three people who vehemently despised one another, came together to effectuate a sort of perfect plan that only they could have pulled off.

As such, she also was one of the few who knew the origins of the current state of the world, participating in its construction. Her help was going to be crucial. If the primary theory at the moment was going to be proven one way or another, it was most likely to come from her aide and her mind.

"Z-Zero? I had no idea you were here." Nina said in surprise as Suzaku started gathering up the papers Nina spilled. She rushed to help him. "I was told about the attack on your base, but I assumed you would have gone to a military base."

"I could say the same thing. I wouldn't expect you to be here." Suzaku replied. "This was the first place the military was redeployed to after the loss of the base, so I tagged along. I thought Nunnally might come here, considering where the nearest place to the castle would be that could securely hold her, so I've stuck around."

"Ah, that makes sense. I was summoned here myself, but I don't know what's going on. Can you tell me what's happening?"

Suzaku hesitated, then said, as he handed Nina the papers he gathered. "It's probably best we wait for Nunnally."

It was a relatively rare thing for the empress to visit the Assembly Hall. As the monarch at the head of the empire, it was the customary thing to have the Assembly go to her, not the other way around. If she needed to address them, they went to her castle at her invite and were received there.

Nevertheless, there were rooms set aside should the monarch ever need to attend the Assembly Hall. Unlike the castle, however, none of these were bedrooms. A sign that this building would likely be her residence for at least a few days, furniture was being brought in. It was likely that some meeting room was being repurposed as they spoke.

In similar fashion, a conference room had been requisitioned as the empress' office. It was a little slap-dash, but the room had to be particularly secure to prevent eavesdropping in any form. Some elements of this were inherently part of the makeup of the Assembly Hall's rooms, but to meet imperial standards required a bit more detail. It was essential that the empress be allowed a place to quietly converse with certain individuals in private without worry.

Regardless, it was a necessary task being completed by the Imperial Security Corp as Suzaku and Nina entered the room. Sitting in her chair was Nunnally, the twenty-year-old Empress of the Holy Britannia Empire. It was a bit painful to see her as she was right now, however.

The Nunnally Suzaku met as a child was a girl who could be as gentle as morning dew one moment, and as fiery as a volcano the next. After they were separated, it seemed time and life had changed her somewhat, because the Nunnally he was reunited with at Ashford Academy was ever the picture of morning dew. The duty of ruling had changed her.

Sometimes stern, sometimes happy, sometimes angry. What she gained in expressiveness, she lost in that ever present calm and slight feeling that he had back then. It was difficult to accept. It was a natural consequence of the duties and responsibilities on her shoulders, but it was hard not to wonder if she wouldn't have been happier having never regained her name and title.

That question was more prevalent now, looking as her expression freely shift to reflect the thoughts on her mind. You could read her like a book, and it told an unhappy tale. Her sagging eyes betrayed the fact she had most certainly been crying, and was without question exhausted to the point of seeming almost sickly. She was so deeply lost in thought, blotting out the world around her, she hadn't noticed Suzaku and Nina enter. One moment her face looked to be ready to succumb to tears, the next, so furious you were a bit scared to even be in the same room with her. And then a moment later still, she looked to be adrift in the sea of a pleasant memory.

"We're finished, your majesty," one of the corps said.

She replied with a pleasant enough, "Thank you," but the hoarseness in her voice told of the strain the last several hours had been on her. She waited for the last of the corps members to leave before she turned a sullen gaze towards Suzaku. On cue, Suzaku removed the mask of Zero. "Please sit," she asked of him and Nina.

The room was a modest sized conference room. An oblong wooden table that could fit maybe a dozen around it separated the empress from her guests. Excluding her own wheelchair, only about six other cloth armchairs occupied the space around the table at the moment. A remote telescoping arm held a monitor close to the ceiling a short ways behind Nunnally, as she sat facing the only entry or exit, a pair of wooden, metal-core, doors. In the corner behind Nunnally to her right was a podium with what looked like a tablet display taking up most of the surface, a similar sized setup mirrored on the table in front of Nunnally.

"I'm glad you're okay Suzaku," Nunnally said to him, tilting her head to the side slightly, a sweet but melancholic smile on her lips. "You've suffered a terrible ordeal."

"You're too kind, Nunnally. I know you've experienced a terribly painful ordeal yourself," he replied with a conciliatory lowering of his head.

"Yes, it seems we are being made to endure terrible pain and sadness."

"I'm afraid you don't know how terrible," Suzaku said, angry for having to add more to the tale of woe Nunnally was already lamenting.

"I was told that the Black Knights base was completely destroyed by fire," Nunnally accounted.

"Yes, well…" he hesitated.

He glanced at Nina sitting stiffly beside him. Even when she sat with him and Lelocuh years ago, that was the way it was for her. In spite of all her determination and what self-confidence she had managed to find, discussing these matters was still far from her forte. She could put on as brave a face as anyone now, but Suzaku knew she hated talking about death and dying. She never had a taste for it, and failed to acquire one despite all she'd seen.

As to urge him on that it was okay, Nina turned slightly to him and nodded. With a heavy mental sigh, Suzaku continued. "Once I heard that you were safe and where you were, I began ordering the Black Knights to scramble to meet you at the castle so we could protect you and help with the rescue. I was on my way to hangar when the attack began. I was cut off from the hangar with a few members of the Order. We made it to the armory to grab some weapons, and then we made our way to an exit.

"Once outside, we were confronted by… a large, black… figure. It didn't attack, but kept us from running. That was when…"

Suzaku paused and swallowed hard. He couldn't bring himself to glance Nina's way again, and he didn't want to look Nunnally in the eyes either. He kept his head bowed and said, "We saw a person kill one of our members. When they came towards us, they looked like… they looked like Shirley… Fenette."

"Huh?" Nina said with an aloof dissonance. It was only matched by Nunnally's own wide-eyed mixture of fury and horror.

Nunnally shut her eyes, bound her hands tightly into fists, and relaxed them again. Suzaku had seen her do this a number of times. The young Nunnally would have erupted into an outburst of complaints and whining. This was the way she kept that part of her in check nowadays. When with others she was more discrete with this habit, but in private like this, she didn't care whether anyone saw her strain to rein herself in.

"Are you sure it wasn't… no," she started and stopped. She knew there was no way Suzaku could possibly make that sort of mistake, but her racing mind pushed that question to her lips a little too fast. "Nina… I need you to listen carefully," she said, staring at Nina with fierce eyes.

"_She's gotten so strong,_" Suzaku thought to himself. "_This is her imperial mode._"

Sappy naming sense aside, this was the form of Nunnally the empress showing through. Calm, measured, direct. When she was serious about something, she took on a different tone and sat with a different posture. It made you sit up and take notice.

"The fire at the castle," Nunnally began. "Was caused by a large black creature that resembled the dragons in stories. There was a person commanding the dragon to attack. She confronted me when I was returning to the castle. She looked to be Euphie."

"_I've failed her," _Suzaku thought. _"She's being forced to tell Nina this even though I had the chance to explain it to her myself. Nunnally's got enough to think about right now, yet I was being a coward and forced her to tell Nina this."_

Nina looked to be a frightful mess. She was scratching her head, trying to make sense of what they were telling her. Her violet eyes had turned as glassy as the frames that sat on her nose, darting all over in a mad dash to glimpse some invisible specter that might tell her she was dreaming, or maybe had heard wrong, or something. Because, at the moment, none of it made sense.

"P-Princess Euphemia… Princess… I…" Nina incoherently stammered, tears swelling in her eyes.

"You should both know as well as anyone that it's not possible." Nunnally said resolutely. "That's why I asked you to come here, Nina."

"I… I don't…" Nina continued to stammer, too consumed with the story to consider what Nunnally was trying to get at.

"I need to know if there's anyway a creature like a dragon can really exist in this world."

"A… a dragon? W-well, strictly speaking, it's highly unlikely. The creatures… in their myths, are too large to fly. No muscles could support the wings a creature like that would need. And the idea of an animal breathing fire is impossible. There's no way for it to create or store fire inside its body, and no animal known to the world has any internal structure that would suggest it could withstand prolonged exposure to flames.

"From a practical standpoint, it's also highly improbable that an avian or land animal as large as a dragon could have gone unseen in nature this long. There are few places on the earth that could support the necessary diet of an animal that large, all of which have had human habitation for at least a century. A sustainable breeding population of creatures that large could not possibly go unseen."

"That means that whatever it was we saw, it had to be a fake." Suzaku summarized. "The Black Knights did try to fight it off – I could hear the weapons fire when we were trying to escape. But it looked to be unharmed. We're probably dealing with some kind of machine made to look like a dragon."

"That's what I was thinking too," Nunnally agreed.

"No. Impossible," Nina refuted.

"Are you sure?"

"Well… not technically impossible, someday. I'm not an expert on engineering, but we don't have the technology to convincingly replicate anything like a dragon. Anything made today would certainly look more like a Knightmare than a dragon. You wouldn't mistake the engine noise, or the light from a Sakuradite reactor, or a Float System to allow it to fly."

"So it can't be a real creature, and it can't be a Knightmare. Does that leave us anything?" Nunnally questioned, the irritation in her voice slightly rising.

"We should contact Lloyd and Rakshata too, to see if perhaps they have special knowledge in this area." Suzaku suggested.

"I-I can do that," Nina offered. "I speak with Ser Lloyd regularly. We were supposed to speak tomorrow about a project I was researching."

"Please do." Nunnally agreed.

"Some of my advisors think we should announce this as a domestic terrorist attack – a failed assassination of the empress – so that we can calm public fear. Some think I shouldn't say anything until we know exactly what happened. What do you think, Suzaku?"

"The people are going to be very anxious as news trickles out. It would be very comforting to them to have their empress show her face to them and tell them that everything will be okay. It would be best if she didn't have to lie to accomplish that."

"The Senior Counsel will be meeting in about an hour. We will draft a statement then. I'll make my public statement by 8 o'clock."

"Yes, your majesty," Suzaku replied. He wondered for a moment if Nunnally had already determined the way she was going to answer her public. Her response seemed to say as much.

The Senior Counsel was a group of advisors to the empress. They were more or less the replacements for the cadre of royals and nobles that worked far behind Charles.

It was a somewhat strange thing when Nunnally first ascended and announced the formation of the Counsel. In terms of their actual powers, they had little if any. There had been no laws or anything like that in place that said who could be on the Counsel, what their duties would be, or any other details.

In terms of effective power, they were some of the most powerful individuals in the empire simply from the fact that theirs was the mouths whispering in the ear of the monarch. It was their opinions, their beliefs, that were supposed to commonly inform the policies the empress set forward. This was abundantly clear to be the biggest test of their influence to date.

"Sister is on her way too," Nunnally added. "I'll have to tell her too."

"If you like, I…" Suzaku started to say. He'd jumped at the chance to amend his earlier failure with Nina.

"No," Nunnally said, cutting him off. She was very defensive. "I have to do this."

"As you wish, your majesty."

Suzaku led Nina out of the room. He told one of the maids walking by to get some tea for Nunnally. As he saw Nina mumbling, a strange look on her face he could only think to describe as manic confusion, he asked the maid to fetch two cups of tea.

Placing a hand on Nina's shoulder he told her, "Take a deep breath. Slowly breathe in, and breathe out." She did as he said, that doing the trick. "Feel a little better now?"

"Y-Yes. I'm fine now," she said with a puppyish look. "I'll be okay."

"It's like you said yourself, it's not possible. That means someone is using some sort of trick we haven't figured out just yet. We'll figure it out, and the people behind all this will meet justice."


	5. Chapter 5 - Lost

**Chapter 5 – Lost**

"One last thing, your majesty. About next week…"

"Several of us have discussed the matter beforehand. After this incident, and considering the weather forecast, we believe the prudent thing is to cancel the public event."

"I've already considered the matter. Given the preparations and attention already placed on the ceremony, and our now heightened awareness, there is little cause for concern that we will be caught unaware. Until I learn of some reason to believe otherwise, we will continue as normal next week."

"Yes, your majesty."

The room was lit by the dull light of the early morning sun having just peaked its head out from under the covers of night. Spotty clouds drift across its path as if to remind that the night that was once so clear had been filled with the blotting of smoke. All across the city those who had gone to bed unaware and were never stirred awake of the night's events found their nostrils filled with the scent of ash and char from some place close enough to be concerned, yet far enough to not be directly seen.

As the stuffy politicos of the royal counsel departed the room, an exhausted Nunnally slouched in her chair. For so many years she'd been unable to see a sunrise even if she wanted to. She lived most of her life as a blind girl unable to walk. When her eyesight returned, she spent many mornings waking up especially early just to make sure she could sit and watch the sunrise.

This morning, she found herself somewhat disgusted by the rising sun. For some reason it felt almost as if it were meant to mock her. "Are you telling me to go see for myself how I let my home burn once again? Or are you here to finish what was started?" she badgered to herself.

In part she was hoping that it had all been a dream. If she woke up in a dark room, in a comfortable bed, she could at least think for a little while that everything was just a nightmare soon to vanish like the morning dew. But to see the sunlight creep in through covered windows refuted that hopeless desire. With the ceremony only a week away, she had considered that her own nerves about this inauspicious time of year had merely stirred her unconscious mind to think of terrible things. But that wasn't the case.

"My home is gone." She softly lamented, her heart as heavy as her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lelouch. I couldn't protect it. The precious things you gave to me, I've let someone take them from me."

She'd have cried out in anguish and frustration if it were the old her. A flood of tears would have doused the world and put out every fire. But she knew she couldn't do that now. As difficult as it was, she felt the weight of her responsibility to be brave in the face of doubt and fear.

When she took over the leadership of Britannia, there was quite a lot of consternation. Is she strong enough? Will she be able to manage it all? Will she become a tyrant, a murderer, like her brother and father?

Everything she had done since then had been to assuage the possibility of a repeat of the tragedy caused by her family. It was a monumental task to be sure. Creating the Senior Counsel, a group of commoners with expertise in their given fields, was part of it. the creation of the democratically elected Senate was part of it too.

The hardest thing she'd come to learn to deal with was managing the criticisms of her detractors. When they weren't ranting about her being a danger of regression to the era of her two predecessors, they were regarding her a paper tiger for taking a backseat in so many international issues over the last several years. Understanding she'd never win everyone's hearts and minds was a difficult thing to swallow, given her hopes after having the crown forced atop her head.

"They won't like this speech either," she mulled in a muttered voice, sleep addled eyes unperceptively glaring at the ceiling. "I can't blame them for that. I am a paper tiger; getting burnt so easily."

"Kindness doesn't make you weak," she remembered someone telling her after losing her brother. It echoed back in her head just now as she felt herself drifting towards sleep. "It's the weak who mistake that kindness who are usually the first to die."

"I miss her too…" she whispered as she nodded off.

The press gathered for the imperial address at about 7:30 that morning. The empress was scheduled to speak at 8, but any reporter with a day's experience in the business knew that things like this almost never started on time. You arrived early only to make sure you could have your crew save your spot as close to the front as you could get. Then you ran off to see if you could speak with some official or staffer or the like to find out what was going on behind the scenes. The five-minute warning was the starter's gun firing, the reporters dashing back to their seats to be ready to record or broadcast as needed.

Sara Gridley was not so lucky. She found herself wondering sometimes why she even got herself involved in this line of work.

"Ms. Gridley, what do you think's taking so long?" her assistant asked as the clock ticked closer to nine.

"Hmm? Well, it's not that surprising really. I mean, what would you be doing if your house burnt to ashes with dozens of folks inside? Despite everything, royals are stull just humans after all. Add that to all her responsibilities, and that fact she was out and about all day yesterday… I'm not stupid enough to think she's perfectly fine. Chances are she fell right to sleep the moment a bit of stress was relieved, and they let her oversleep a little. I bet they'll probably cancel all her public events for the next few days too."

"Oh, well, yeah, guess that makes sense. If that's the case, why even have her make the address? Why not leave it to a minister or something?"

"Regardless of the words she actually uses here, you're still essentially talking about the Empress of Britannia declaring war on someone."

"War?"

"What? Did you think Britannia would take this lying down? Someone firebombs the imperial castle, attacks a Black Knights base in the capital, there's nothing else to really call it but an act of war. I'm sure she'll measure her words carefully, but there's little real doubt that's what's about to happen."

When Sara was in high school, she had no real idea what she wanted to do in life. Being a Britannian but not of any royal house, there wasn't a lot of exciting prospects to dream about. It all seemed to be just dull. The only thing she had any wisp of a passion for was photography. Unfortunately, that was a job that paid next to thing, even if you managed to reach the upper echelons. Despite being a Britannian, that only really placed you a couple steps closer to the front of the crowd to watch those with all the power and wealth enjoy their lives. Sure, you at least had the opportunity to reach for the top, unlike honorary Britannians or even Numbers, but that only meant you had a stick to fight with rather than going in unarmed. You still had to fight and claw your way to a decent life.

That was the reality Sara lived with until the fall of Charles zi Britannia. When Lelouch emerged from the depths of obscurity, or hell as it were, he had thrown the lives of folks like Sara into a tizzy. Suddenly the path before them opened up so much more. That glass cage that let them glimpse the prospects of a better life and real power was broken open… but most had no idea what to do with that opportunity. They had choice and opportunity but no clue what to do with it all now that they had it.

For some like Sara, it awakened a curiosity in them; what was it like for those who had not even that glass to peer through? For people like the Numbers whose view was not that glass cage but a stone room with one small, barred, window, what was the attribution of real opportunity like?

For Sara, the outlet of that curiosity was taking photographs. She graduated high school shortly after Nunnally was coronated the 100th Empress of the Holy Britannia Empire. She spent a few months just travelling, taking photos of former numbers and populating a blog she was running. She would occasionally attach small stories to the photos she took showing people making sense of the new reality around them. An editor for a news organization caught wind of her. Impressed by her skill, he offered her a job doing more of that.

Now, a few years later, she was the top reporter for a medium sized outfit. That meant her days of wandering, taking photos of whatever struck her fancy, were over. That in turn made her just a bit bitter. Nothing outrageous, just… a persistent sense of loss. It was as though she'd had a beautiful dream she could only remember scant parts of when waking up in the morning.

"What kind of idiot would start a war with Britannia right now? It makes no sense."

Sara was only twenty-eight. But she felt almost twice that when she was working with Chris. Really, they were only nine years apart, but to her he was just such a dumb kid sometimes she was exasperated to be his mentor. She didn't hate him. It was just that his youthful naivete was grating. Or maybe less his naivete and more his habit of voicing his complete ignorance as though it were sage wisdom?

"You sound like an old lady," one of her friends laughed at her over drinks one night shortly after Sara became Chris' mentor. "We're all the same at that age – we know everything, and nothing makes sense. If that weren't the case, we wouldn't need mentors, huh?"

"That experience from a teacher?"

"There's a reason I teach elementary and not high school; they're at least smart enough to know they don't know anything," her friend laughed.

Even though she grumbled about him all the time, she did like how earnest Chris was. He came off as a clueless kid stuck in a roll he didn't want or care for. Yet, he always had that sparkle of inquisitiveness, a seemingly real interest in what it took to become a reporter. She had to admire that much at least, since she herself only stumbled into this line of work. It made it hard for her not to start doting on him once in a while.

"Look, do you think this is a pacifist nation?" Sara asked Chris, doing her best impression of a teacher.

"No, I don't think that at all."

"Exactly. Even with the kind of empress we have now, even with how quiet this nation's been for the last few years, it's still considered a dangerous beast. There's no shortage of people out there who see her as just a monster dozing lazily for the moment. They're afraid that beast will wake up and start to devour the world all over again. So, like any frightened human, they decided to attack the beast while it was sleeping, before it could wake up and attack them.

"Well, at least that's how the story'll go."

"Oh, I get it; you're saying that whoever did this is going to try and call it a preemptive strike or something like that?"

"Well, you're learning a little it seems," Sara said with a smirk.

The first row of seats in front of the podium began to fill in, signaling that the empress was moments from making her appearance. Sara would never be too forthcoming to admit so, but she always found delight in seeing the face of the empress.

"_She's so photogenic. If I could spend my whole life just taking her picture, it would be amazing,"_ she swooned in her head.

It was seeing Nunnally that really spurred Sara on this track. She wasn't ashamed to talk about it, or to talk people's ears off about it. But she couldn't explain it well either. Whenever she saw Nunnally, it stirred something in her. It wasn't as though to say Nunnally was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen, or there was enthrall with her being nobility. She didn't have much opinion one way or another over Nunnally from a personal standpoint, or regarding her political frame. Like taking a picture of a gorgeous sunset or getting that perfect timing on an animal in the wild, that was what it was like for Sara any time she was in position to take Nunnally's photo.

"She really was asleep," Sara whispered. It was just loud enough that Chris could hear her.

"What do you mean? She looks pretty normal to me."

"No, they've put a little more makeup on her than normal to cover up the bags under her eyes. She's too young for bags under the eyes, so it can only be from lack of sleep. They must want to make sure she shows a strong front. Her eyes are pretty heavy still too, so you know it wasn't much of a rest. But, if they have a good photographer, they can use that to make her seem a bit more upset and sterner. That'll play well for this sort of thing."

"You really do sound more like her PR rep than a reporter you know?"

"I'd love to be her press secretary. But, me wishing it and it being a thing aren't the same. Milly Ashford would sooner have the chance than some nobody like me."

"Hehe… don't think you're totally wrong. Not that it probably matters much though. I hear she hardly takes much advice from her press folks. I heard a rumor she usually isolates them and ignores what they say most of the time."

"Well, that probably goes for more than just her press secretary. I brought up Milly not because she's a reporter, but because she's probably the only person who used to be close to her that hasn't shown up in any rumors as being an advisor. Those old guys sitting up there behind her, her Senior Council; everyone knows they're just window dressing she put in place because the world was afraid of her becoming like her family. Her sister Cornelia, her friend Nina, and the man who saved her from her brother's guillotine, Zero, are the only voices who really have her ear."

"Oh yeah, I heard earlier that Princess Cornelia is on her way to the capital. So is Prince Schneizel."

"Schneizel, huh? I'm not terribly surprised, but I wouldn't say I expected it either. He's been pretty much silent since leaving about four years ago. That just goes to show you how big this is that even the prince is coming back here. But, I doubt he'll get much say in how things go. He barely managed to keep his head, what with his manipulation of his sisters in the war, and his role in those disasters."

"Think there'll be protests?"

"Probably. He's pretty well hated. But, I doubt there's much appetite for that sort of thing when Britannia's been attacked like this. Say what you will, but Nunnally's been able to keep Britannia's nose fairly clean. She won't shoulder much blame."

"But that changes if she's seen as being too aggressive," he said, a spark of knowing that came with a youngster feeling particularly smart for jumping ahead on the breadcrumbs laid out for them.

"That's right. He is her brother, the last one she's got out of the dozens she once did. They won't be too critical upfront if he's just back to console and support his little sister. But, if they start seeing Britannia expand its counterattack against the ones behind this attack, it won't work out well."

"You keep saying "they" as if we aren't the ones that are supposed to write stories like that."

"I'm not interested in spinning a stupid story like that. If I'm forced to write news stories, then at least let me write something based in fact, not some twisted concoction just to make headlines."

"Yeah… you really don't sound like a reporter most of the time."

"Thanks," she lightly scoffed.

She really didn't need her apprentice reminding her so often of the fact that she had about as little interest in the news aspect of her job as one probably could while still being a reporter. Still, she had a job to do, and she would have to do it if she wanted to keep getting her coveted chances to photograph her muse.

"… and that is why we must stand firm in the face of this evil. Britannia will not accept such cruel and despicable acts that trample over all that we have strived to overcome these precious few years gone by. We will defend ourselves against these cowardly aggressors without allowing ourselves to fall into the depraved state of naked aggression towards our neighbors all over the world. We will look to our neighbors to help us identify these threats and put a stop to them so that no more innocent people have to die in a meaningless conflict again."

In the hours following her speech, Nunnally received near universal praise. It in part came from a severe lack of expectation. Most expected only the worst of Britannia, regardless of the spectrum of views on Nunnally herself. Those who expected her to end up just like her siblings and father were certain this incident was the precondition for a declaration of a new world war. They thought she would use this incident as the excuse she needed to launch into an endless cycle of destruction, tearing through one country after the next in pursuit of a nondescript enemy to her vision of so-called peace.

Then there were those who thought that she was too meek and gutless to make any bold proclamations of fighting anyone. They expected her speech would be filled with soft-spoken, shallow, assertions of ideals of pacifism or pure moral fastidiousness. It made the expectations of Nunnally in many cases comical.

Still, regardless the impression of the bar she was to meet, she had met it and exceeded it. for Britannia to go forward in this murky situation, that was important. No matter how meager a step it was, failure would mean an isolated Britannia fighting for recognition and support while also fighting whatever enemy had just attacked them. Demonstrating strength and solidarity was important.

And yet, in a mere couple of days that image of strength was beginning to crumble.

"Hey guys, what's the word?" A man of probably no more than his mid-thirties entered the room in his officer's uniform. He removed his cap and set it down atop a console as he peered out at the runway from this control tower.

There had been a slight change to the uniforms of the imperial military a couple years after Nunnally's ascension. For a while there had been stories about her wanting to shed any vestiges of the past by doing this, but the reality was the redesign had been in effect since some time ago; a result of a whim by princess Guinevere after she was made to attend a military parade she found to be overly drab for her tastes. It mattered little and less now, but this man, Major Frank Kearse, took part in that particular project.

"Legs, Chief. Spread the word."

The guy with the crass joke was Lieutenant Paul Ulster. He and Kearse were war buddies, deployed together in the EU theater near the end of Charles' reign. His claim to fame was briefly being mentioned as a lover of Princess Guinevere. Every now and then you could hear him grumble about his wish that he had been so lucky. But, while the part about him being part of the princess' security team for a time was true, he had never been so fortunate as to even say more than a hello to her once in the two-week stint as a lower level potential bullet cushion.

"How's the captain doing?" the third guy in the room asked. He was Lieutenant Shepard Sykes. He'd met Kearse and Ulster when they were all transferred over to this base a year and a half ago. They naturally became buddies after winding up on the same shifts.

"Worried," Kearse answered. The "captain" was Captain Tanner Hicks. He was the base commander, and Major Kearse was his deputy, in charge while the captain was away. It wasn't a perfectly normal chain of command, but with an out-of-the-way base like this, a minimalistic structure was all you needed.

"Worried?" Sykes asked with a scoff. Worry was a five-letter word that didn't hold much meaning since they were posted on this base far from the capital.

"He said it was top level classified, so he couldn't talk about it over the phone. But I haven't heard him like that since the war."

"I keep telling you folks," Ulster started up, waving his hand dismissively. "She might not be a pacifist, but that empress of ours ain't a vampire either. Especially with some dirty rat terrorists in the middle of a dirt mound overseas. She'll use the Black Knights, take advantage of the fact they got messed up too, and let them and the UFN take care of wiping out the bastards. No way we're seeing any action anytime soon. They probably got the captain worked up over nothing."

"Yeah, well, whatever the case I just received orders to be on the lookout. Rollins Base just said they spotted suspicious air traffic. They couldn't get a good fix on it, but it was heading our way."

"Suspicious air traffic? Like what exactly? I mean, do they realize where we are? There's gotta be at least a half dozen other military and civilian facilities that'd spot something "suspicious" before we would." Ulster laughed boisterously.

Their small base was nothing so special as to be a clear target; nothing like the imperial castle or the capital base for the Order of the Black Knights. Even if wanting to assume some strategic purpose, one could hardly imagine choosing this place to occupy, surrounded on virtually all sides – if you extend your sight out about 75 miles in every direction – by bigger, more well-equipped bases. Even if you could take this base, you'd be descended on by a fairly overwhelming force in a little over an hour.

"If it's Rollins Base, then the fastest any craft would get here would be about an hour. I wouldn't expect that timing though. They've gotta know they were spotted, right? If it is an attack, they'll circle somewhere else for a little to throw off the timing. And if it's just a civilian craft, then Rollins' air defense fleet will likely catch up to it way before it can get anywhere near here.

"But," Sykes sighed as he lazily pulled himself up and walked to the window. "I guess we don't have much choice but to do our jobs."

"That's right," Kearse said, picking up his cap and giving it a wave on his way back out the door. "The only ones who'll look dumber than Rollins for letting a target slip by so easily will be use for doing the same damn thing."

"Roger that, sir." Ulster sighed. "Well, there certainly ain't anything on radar right now," he grumbled to Sykes. "Should we bump things up to radio scans now?"

"Not sure I'm in the mood to scanning static. I'll give 'em a call and see if they've can update us on what happened. Who knows, maybe they got spooked too and it'll turn out they never saw anything to begin with."

"Alright. Maybe we should contact Deen River too. They might pick up on a bogey drifting into their airspace."

"I'll be…"

Sykes was reaching for the phone when the base's air raid siren began to bleat out its whining alarm. He mouthed out a "what the hell" in disbelief. The only way the air raid alarm could be going off, if he and Ulster as the two on-duty air control tower officers hadn't done it, was if the on-ground control officers spotted something visually. What that was, he didn't know. Ulster just said a moment ago the radar was clear. And it would take quite the level of stupidity for anyone on the base to mistakenly activate the air raid siren rather than the general alarm for a ground-based attack.

His very brief shock over, Sykes grabbed his binoculars and started to the window. A full 360-degrees of vision for miles around, it should have been possible to spot any approaching aircraft from miles away. The radar systems in the room should have picked up something far earlier than that. And the ground observation crew, which was meant to serve more as a redundancy, had a fraction less of the tower's vision, as they had to deal with the obstructions of buildings and trees. In a "perfect" world the ground crew would have cut down every tree clear to the next town.

Down on the ground there was screaming and shouting. Someone down there was clearly already taking command and directing the soldiers. Sykes scanned intently, trying to pick up what it was that spooked the ground crew.

"Holy s…" he heard Ulster shout from the other side of the room.


	6. Chapter 6 - Burning

**Burning**

"Is she still going to go ahead with the public ceremony?" a mournful sounding Lloyd asked as he slowly paced down the hall of the temporary imperial residence. They were on their way to the room at the end of this relatively long hallway, their escorts leaving them at the start of the hall.

"It seems her highness is adamant about not cancelling the Memorial Day events. She truly believes that the people need the catharsis of mourning, as well as a show of solidarity and strength, especially now." Cecille answered him, similarly morose.

"I certainly miss the good old days when our monarchs selfishly plotted their own survival," Lloyd dryly joked. Cecille silently gave him a scolding glance, relieved enough that no one had been around to hear his crass jest.

Following the demise of Lelouch, Lloyd and Cecille continued their joint research work on behalf of Britannia. Their official rolls were a strange paradox, as their titles outwardly became more clandestine, while their actual work remained little changed, if not more outwardly visible. Officially they were attachés for the Britannia military's imperial arms division. This was essentially the arm under which the former En Vogue operated and would have been the arm that created the specialty Knightmare Frames used by the Knights of the Rounds. However, Cecille and Lloyd's work now focused more on the "consultation" with foreign allied partners in their own scientific development programs. That was a fancy way of saying they were developing Knightmare Frames for the Black Knights mostly, a few other Britannia allies to a lesser extent.

Given the multitude of arms treaties and penalties Britannia was under, the Black Knights were really the only entity that they really could peddle their talents to. But the UFN is not a nation unto itself, and the duo were still at least tangentially attached to the Demon King in the public's mind, so there wasn't exactly a lot of options for them outside Britannia.

Nowadays they spent much of their time working out of the Galveston facility, Cecille still helping support Lloyd's off-the-walls scientific curiosity, while tempering his worst habits and instincts. If not for a late season tropical storm they would've arrived in the capital a day earlier, but their responsibilities with the lab delayed them. That had annoyed Lloyd to no end, as he was supremely curious about the report Nina sent them.

"I wonder if they've made any progress on their analysis," Cecille pondered aloud. "It didn't sound like they had very much to go on."

"Not very much indeed. Though I suppose that if they were able to make progress on their own, they wouldn't have called us here to begin with."

"I did hear that they've confirmed two other bases have been attacked. They're fairly small out of the way places, so a lot of the details are still being kept out of the news. Even so, anxiety is certainly going to grow now that there've been two more attacks."

"Well, that would certainly make sense. If you don't count Prince Schneizel's surprise assault on the capital, it's been a very long time since Britannia's faced an enemy that has gotten away with so many attacks on the homeland. I'll be very interested in finding out what it is they've been holding back from us."

"You think they know that much? I suppose they wouldn't be secretive with us if they didn't have fairly critical information."

"I have a feeling this is going to be quite the messy project my dear Cecille."

There was a single guard at the door. He silently opened the door to let Lloyd and Cecille in. This was clearly one of the secure rooms, the door much thicker than it initially seemed. There were no windows either, making the room feel very claustrophobic. The room was relatively large, enough for two chandeliers which provided most of the lighting.

By its offset the room held a long table to the left, smaller than you'd be accustomed to seeing in a conference room, but still large enough to seat eight. Many of the frills of a typical war room were absent like the large digital displays, or computer monitors inlaid into the table. There was a digital projector pointed at a blank wall, but who was to say where it was connected from.

Seated at the table already was the young empress and her older sister. The elder sister seemed angry, which wasn't saying much because she often seemed angry. There were precious few moments you could see a genuine happy smile on her face; when she used to look at her blood sister, and now when she looked at her child. For the empress too every once in a while, and in private far more than public. But she felt a certain weight and gravitas came with being forced to retain the mantle of First Princess while in the presence of the empress.

She wouldn't likely describe her own expression as angry, but rather stern. She was a military woman after all; the successor to the legendary Marianne the Flash. She hardly took the pride in that title that she once did, however. In any event, that part of her life past her now, she couldn't quite untether herself from those movements, those engrained muscle memories of how to move, how to look, how to speak, when on official duty rather than private repose. It wouldn't at all be beyond the realm of possibility that she had actually been far more relaxed and casual a moment ago before she heard the door opening. Who was to say how tense or pleasant the chatter was before now?

Zero was also seated at the table. His helmet still on, Suzaku's expression was impossible to read. More likely than not he was only here now for convincing Lloyd and Cecille of the matter, not that it was one they'd need much convincing on. He'd have probably liked to wait outside while the sisters were together, but given the nature of the conversation to follow, that likely wasn't a real option.

The last person in the room was Nina. Lloyd and Cecille had always found her to be an odd duck, from differing perspectives on the matter mind you. Cecille often thought of her as being too hard to read. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking, and her expressions sometimes didn't match what she was saying. Was she lying to others, to herself, was she even aware? It was all a difficult thing for Cecile to grasp when she looked at Nina.

Lloyd on the other hand thought her to be too much like him and Rakshata, just with worse brakes. Back when he recruited her, he had been dazzled by her inquisitiveness and brilliance. He truly thought her a scientific genius. But with his own genius, he could also see how destructive her potential was. Barriers and roadblocks he would carefully negotiate, she would barrel on through. It was a reckless abandon in the pursuit of an end goal he both admired and dread. But he wasn't the sort to lecture people on stuff like that.

"It's an honor to be here, your majesty. It's good to see you again too, Princess Cornelia. It's been a while. How's little Anne doing these days?" Lloyd greeted happily enough. He at least kept the boisterousness to a minimum.

"She's fine," she answered him a bit curtly. She was never particularly fond of Lloyd. He always did rub her the wrong way, so the fact that she hadn't been more derisive was at least something.

"I had thought Prince Schneizel would be here as well," Lloyd stated as he and Cecille took a seat.

"Prince Schneizel has gone to meet with a delegation from Kurdistan," Suzaku answered, removing his helmet now that everyone seemed to be present. "They were supposed to be meeting with the Empress to discuss an economic development plan the UFN was brokering with regional states. Now they're offering logistical and intelligence support to deal with our problem."

"Hard at work as ever I see. Then are we to begin without him?"

"Yes," Nunnally answered. "Nina, please show them."

Nina stood up and shuffled closer to Lloyd and Cecile. She placed the tablet she'd been holding on the table in front of them. As she swiped through a series of files and images, she and Suzaku went about carefully explaining to the two the technical side of the story of what they knew from the night a couple days ago.

At the end of it, Lloyd had an incredulous look on his face. It was something akin to the look on his face from when he first saw the Float system employed. Back then he had known that Rakshata had just edged him out to implementing a design theory they'd both once worked on. His reaction fit with Nina's own theory to Suzaku and Nunnally after that night; this was done by a technology that wasn't impossible, just not currently plausible.

"Have you consulted with Rakshata about this?" Lloyd asked.

"We had a brief talk with her earlier this morning," Cornelia answered him. "She asked the same about you."

Lloyd and Cecile's expressions darkened a little as they mulled it over in their heads. "That's not a good thing, is it?" Cecille asked rhetorically. She sighed and took a look back at the tablet, hoping to discern something she might have missed.

"I'm sure Nina can tell you that from the perspective of the necessary energy source, we don't have a means of miniaturizing a suitable powerplant to embed it on a Knightmare and power such a weapon. That alone makes such a weapon highly impractical right now. Rakshata was the only person I could think of who would be even close to something like this. Perhaps there are one or two others, but I would assume she already told you about those."

"She did say there aren't more than maybe three people making progress in this area of design. She said two of them work for the Black Knights, and the other would probably be here in Britannia." Cornelia explained, seemingly exasperated at not getting a more positive answer. "She agreed with Nina that it was probably at least another decade before we had a viable test prototype, let alone one capable of being deployed as a battle-ready weapon,"

"That's on the money. If you're asking when a machine capable of using some sort of plasma weapon in concert with a stealth system that can evade our current detection capabilities while also employing a perfect atmospheric holographic projection… well, that potential is much further away than that I'm afraid."

"Then what was this?" Nunnally asked in a pleading voice.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that for you just yet, your majesty." Lloyd answered somberly. Odd as it seemed, he did have a bit of consideration for appropriateness when speaking with the empress. "Everything I know at the moment says that this should not be possible."

"Even if we assume this was a test run of a prototype, having multiple units operational for such a long period of time would be unthinkable," Cecille added. "It just doesn't make sense."

"Is it possible that the nighttime obscured some detail about the units?" Lloyd questioned.

With a slightly hesitant hand, Nina swiped the screen to another image file. This one was of the attack on the air base the day before. Lloyd's eyes narrowed in curiosity. He went from viewing this as a peculiarity to something of a challenge to his intellect. "Well now, this looks to be quite the bold comedy. Even I know it's not in very good taste though…"

"There's another, though I don't believe you'd know her well." Suzaku added.

"Well, talk of ghosts aside, this certainly isn't a mere holographic projection. Even the most ambitious hopes in place today wouldn't show such a crisp and lifelike image on an object moving about that much. You can see the reactive and variable lighting of the scales, and you aren't seeing any disruption by wind or smoke. This could only be a Knightmare with the skin of a dragon."

"Any theories?" Suzaku prodded.

"There's some folks in the EU we could talk to. The EU has been working on organic forms for their Knightmares since the wars with Britannia. They had several trials models near the end of the conflict." Cecille theorized.

"Ah, you mean the Alexander series," Cornelia mused. "They were called the fruitless flowers. Their ability to shift between various modes to traverse landscapes made them far more maneuverable in a complex or urban theater, which made them a challenge for traditional Knightmares in the forested areas where the EU would draw our fighters into battles. But the units were too fragile. They broke down easily and frequently, and the energy consumption was so extreme that they were deemed unsuitable for a Float system. Virtually nothing of the Alexander series ended up being used in future Knightmare development."

"This design doesn't make much sense, however. If you were to appropriate a mythical beast like a dragon, making it fly would be so difficult that it would be impractical. As exotic as it is for a theme, there's enough examples of ground-based dragons in mythology to work with. You would be able to avoid the difficulty of a Float-enabled Knightmare whose wings have to conform to the design of flapping wings. I don't even understand the point behind it. It's almost like someone just wanted to show off they could make something like this," Cecile grumbled aloud, half thinking out loud, half just to herself.

"I need you three to work with Rakshata to figure out what this enemy is, and who created it. Sister Cornelia and big brother Schneizel have convinced me that a one-week delay to the Memorial Day events would be for the best," Nunnally conceded.

"It should go without saying, but you are to keep all details confidential," Cornelia sternly directed.

"I am having a workshop prepared for you to work from here on-site. Please let me know if there is anything at all you will need," Nunnally added. "Too many people have died already. I want to put a stop to this as soon as possible. There is a team working to identify and locate individuals who may be involved in this plot. I want you to also offer them any technical assistance they need."

"As you wish, your majesty," Lloyd and Cecille solemnly accepted, bowing their heads to her.

"So then, where do we begin?" Nunnally prodded.

"Well, it would be helpful if we could talk to any witnesses to the attack from yesterday. We could use as many details as possible; sights, sounds, smells, that sort of thing," Cecille cautiously laid out. It had dawned on her as she spoke that she hadn't heard about the number of casualties.

"We'll need any units that were damaged most importantly," Lloyd mused, his head tilted upwards in contemplation. "As well as someplace to test our theories."

"Testing?" Cornelia skeptically questioned.

With a stern look he answered her, "If we hope to prove anything, we'll have to give it a try."

"I hope you aren't using this as an excuse to satisfy your curiosities."

"No, it's fine. But you'll need to receive my sister's approval before any experiments." Nunally stipulated.

"Understood, your highness."

"We should get going now," Cornelia said wearily as she stood up. "Schneizel won't be thrilled to have us so late."

"Suzaku, please stay a little while longer to help catch them up."

"Of course, Nunnally."

They all rose and waited for Nunnally and Cornelia to exit the room before sitting back down. It was a royal custom that Nunnally had sought to do away with. It made her feel very uncomfortable, as if the people in the room were hoping to plot something behind her back. Yet she had come to accept it for the symbolic gesture it was.

"I didn't want to bring this up with her majesty in the room," Suzaku began. "But we believe that enemy is someone who knows us fairly well."

"Is that so?" Lloyd pondered a moment. "Any reason in particular? I can say that I don't think a Euphemia impersonator would be that far out of the ordinary."

"So, you've heard," Suzaku stated sternly. He didn't know if to be relieved he didn't have to recount that event again, or furious that it had leaked in the first place. But it did at least seem that Lloyd's source was somewhat limited.

"I hadn't thought much of it until just now. But, if you're so tense about the subject while her majesty's in the room, and more importantly the princess, then I imagine there must be some truth to that nasty rumor. As I said, however, an impersonator to Princess Euphemia isn't terribly significant. I'm sure there are hundreds of young women who can put on makeup or dye their hair to emulate the appearance of someone as famed as her."

"I believe the same thing," Suzaku partly lied. "Princess Euphemia was very well known, and there are countless pictures of her that people might use to dress any number of women to be a striking similarity, particularly when looking at them in the dimness of night while confronting a terrible scene like the castle's burning. That alone wouldn't be enough to draw attention.

"But the person I encountered at the base was not someone in the guise of Princess Euphemia."

"You saw another person?" Cecile asked, this being the first she'd heard of it.

"Yes. Do you remember Shirley Fenette?"

"Shirley Fenette?" Cecile paused. "I think I do recall… are you saying that's who you saw?"

"Yes."

"She was the daughter of a diplomat, a low-level noble. She would certainly be more famous than a regular civilian, but I doubt she is particularly well known. As a strategy to throw off the opponent I can see why they might have someone impersonate Princess Euphemia, but what does it serve to impersonate Shirley Fenette?" Cecile questioned, a bit taken aback by the oddity of the idea.

"She seemed to know who I was, even though I had my helmet on. And she seemed to have known all about Lelouch's time as Zero, as well as what happened between him, Euphemia, and Shirley."

"I see," Cecile sighed. "Even knowing this was an impostor, for them to choose someone who few would have reason to know or connect with, you would then have to assume they would know enough about that person and their relationships to guess information reasonably close to the truth. Suzaku Kururugi is supposed to be dead, so no one should have any reason to think you're Zero."

"Only us, her majesty, and about a handful others should have any idea that Kururugi is alive and has been Zero for the last half decade," Lloyd explained. "Are you suggesting that one of those people is behind this?"

"No, I'm not saying that," Suzaku quickly defended. "There's nothing to be gained from that. As contrite as Nunnally is, she'd hand the throne over to Cornelia the moment she asked, and Cornelia knows that too. I can't see any reason for you all, or Rakshata, or Kallen, to do this either. But the person who's responsible has to know me and Lelouch well enough to think that using Shirley's face would hold any meaning."

"So, there's another project you want our help with, isn't there?" Lloyd guessed.

"I want you two to handle the facial recognition search. Given the fact we're trying to keep this information secret, we can't allow normal teams to be involved in this. It would set off all kinds of rumors if we let it slip out that we're actually looking for someone with the face of a late princess, and I doubt it would take them long to pick up the details on Shirley too."

"I suppose there isn't really much other choice, is there," Lloyd shrugged.

"We could attempt to refine the algorithm to approximate relative height," Cecille added in. "That will certainly slow the process down a great deal, but it should help to eliminate any clear fakes, and hopefully help to disprove the rumors."

"Will you be joining us then, Nina?" Lloyd asked, looking to prod her out of her silence. She'd always been hard to fully read – a mousy girl that seemed scared of her own shadow, yet able to make such determined and unrelenting decisions if need be. He was at least certain that she would be very upset hearing someone was using Euphemia's face and name.

"Her majesty has asked me to coordinate the research departments here in Britannia with our allies so that the information we receive can be processed effectively."

"Weeding out the useless data, eh? That's reassuring," Lloyd was a little disappointed. He was hoping to work with her, but he had to admit that her role was one they would likely sorely need. It was better someone with her talents do it to alleviate the burden on their side when it came time to analyze all that data.

"Nina will be relying on you and your team giving her as precise direction as you can so that you don't end up wasting time." Suzaku explained. It was more to reiterate the obvious, since he knew Lloyd's penchant to get drawn into his own world of research and fantasy.

"Out of curiosity, what will your plans be?" Lloyd questioned.

"I would like to remain by Nunnally's side, but I have things I have to do. I'll be heading to Newport to finish reestablishing the Black Knight's base of operations there. Then tomorrow I have to travel to Tokyo to meet with Kaguya."

"Barely into her second term and this is what she has to deal with. I feel a bit sorry for her," Cecille sighed.

"It's gonna be a little hard keeping her temper in check. I imagine she's gonna rake anyone she thinks suspicious over the coals." Lloyd offered a dry chuckle.

"I probably won't be back in Britannia until the Memorial service,"

"Meeting with world leaders to sniff out the attacker?" Cecille asked.

"And to secure support against whoever this enemy really is."

"I hope we'll have good news for you when you return," Nina offered with a small bow of her head.

"I'll look forward to it. We have to do all we can to prevent this enemy from burning Britannia ever again."


	7. Chapter 7 - Debutante Ball

**Debutante Ball**

There are few things as bracing as a chill in the autumn air that stings more like the dawn of winter than the twilight of summer. It was a little too soon for such cold winds to blow, but nothing unheard of. The trees were already changing colors too. It was probably set to be an early winter this year, which was alright as far as most folks were concerned. An early winter typically meant a mild winter, and you were not likely to find too many complaining about that.

What you would hear complaint about was the citizens of Britannia wanting to know what happened in their empire. Five days since their capital came under dual attacks and the most they were hearing from official sources was that there had been an attack by unknown assailants, likely terrorists rather than any nation-state.

It didn't take a conspiracy nut to figure out that something didn't mesh with that explanation. What couldn't you blame on terrorists? Given the state of the world and the existence of the United Federation of Nations, no nation was going to name another as an aggressor. To do so would lead to two outcomes; you get stagnation as the assembly bickered over the evidence, and you get gridlock as the nature of a response was left indeterminable. What's more, given Britannia's past of blaming every manner of problem within its own borders on terrorism without a lot of detail or explanation… well, you could only get away with that line so many times.

Still, it wasn't impossible. The world after the Zero Requiem was not the idyllic peace that one would have hoped for. "Why does Britannia still exist?" and "why do we have to lose out?" were the competing cries.

Those in Britannia, or even in nations formerly under Britannia's thumb, even if not part of the nobility, managed to make out fairly well under that rule. Not being royalty, they had little if any of the responsibility for the decision-making and had little reason or desire to participate in the discrimination against others. They had gotten by just fine as they were, making a living in a nation whose strength kept the scourge of war and terrorism away from their doorsteps. It wasn't such that they condoned Britannia's actions in their entirety, but they were able to forgo thinking about it since they didn't have to. They didn't choose to be born into a nation like Britannia, and who would reasonably choose to leave a safe and comfortable life for one in another nation they'd likely live a much worse life and suffer most days? Justified or not, they weren't so ready to accept their comforts and expectations being snatched away to appease the world that lost to their nation at every turn.

Britannia surrendered a lot of territory after Nunnally's ascension. Most of the "Areas" were restored their names and independence. One of the few highlights of Britannia's conquest was the principle of self-governance of the Areas to the greatest extent possible. Born more out of a disinterest in actually governing these territories than any genuine care about ideal governance, it made the potential of transition from a Britannia colony back to an independent nation that much easier. Many places frankly already had a government in place and ready to go.

But other nations saw things a little differently. They thought Britannia was still getting off too easily for all the pain and destruction it caused around the world. They thought Britannia should have been fully dissolved, or at the very least broken apart much further.

Nunnally being empress was itself a compromise. She was ready from day one to abdicate the throne and install a democratic system in her place. Many pinned the problems of Britannia on the existence of the monarchy. The idea that a single family, corrupt as it may be, could be guaranteed the helm of a nation, except in the case someone more devious, greedy, ruthless, from within their own family, came along and eliminated them.

Some nations, particularly many in Asia and Europa who still held monarchies of their own, were tepid to place the blame on the institution, noting that any strong-arm leader could have done what Lelouch did, regardless of a democratic or a non-democratic regime.

In the end, the royalists won a partial victory. Nunnally is, without question, empress. However, her power as monarch was diminished. She now shares that power with the elected Assembly that has the power to override her will by a consensus of a substantial portion of their body, that exact threshold varying based on the nature of the decision being overturned. And the unspoken question remains what will happen in the future.

It was an extremely sensitive subject, and the few times anyone's tried to raise it has been shut down rather quickly, but the prospects of Nunnally marrying and having a child hadn't seemed particularly great. Given how few if any of the once prodigiously massive family was left alive, it wasn't at all out of the realm of possibility that Nunnally would die without an heir. If that were to happen, would plutocrats and oligarchs fight over claims of distant blood relations to make a bid for the throne, seek her to name them her heir before she passed? Or would the nation take the opportunity to fully transition to a democratic system? Some thought that Nunnally's initial offer to abdicate was her tacit assertion that she didn't plan on having an heir or naming a successor.

Cornelia did have a little one now, so it was clearly a possibility that the monarchy could continue through that niece, but one had to wonder if either Nunnally or Cornelia would agree to ever put her through that burden. The last thing they'd want would be for her to grow up feeling entitlement to that seat. The corruption of pursuit for a throne was a terrifying thing to behold.

As interesting as literal palace intrigue might be, the real issues at hand was the fact the palace was gone and no one seemed to precisely know who, how, or why. Cornelia had admitted early on that the terrorist story wasn't going to hold up if there wasn't meat put on the bones of that tale. You're a bold terrorist who just successfully launched a surprise attack within the Britannia capital, burning down the imperial castle and an entire base belonging to the world's security force, the Black Knights. The idea that you would go seven seconds, let alone seven days, without claiming responsibility hardly made any sense.

"Well, you could always tell them the truth. Not like anything less will be any less believable," Lloyd recommended in a disinterested manner.

"We'd look like fools saying something that stupid," Cornelia dismissed.

"Perhaps not. All we know is that a terrorist masquerading as Princess Euphemia showed up at the scene of the fire that destroyed the castle, while another masquerading as a schoolgirl was at the scene of the attack on the Order's base. Despite what Ku… I mean, what Zero saw, and what the empress saw, there's no way a single individual was responsible for the attacks, but we've got nothing on their accomplices. Well, it's not like these sorts of things are my specialty in the first place."

"I won't give some terrorist scum the satisfaction of in any way attaching my sister's name to this travesty," Cornelia bitterly stated.

"Well, let's move on to the facts of the case then, shall we?" he said, knowing it not the best idea in the world to argue with Cornelia over this.

"Let's. I believe you said there was an analysis of the damage caused in the attack?"

"Yes," Cecile began stoically. "They were able to complete some of the chemical analysis of both sites. The analysis is far less complete at the base due to the great many potential contaminants. However, at the castle, there are conflicting preliminary conclusions."

"In what way?" Cornelia asked.

"Based on damage observed and recorded, particularly the damage to the stonework of the outer walls and the steelwork of the inner support structures, the temperature of the fire had to have been in excess of 1100 centigrade. These temperatures should ordinarily only be possible in the confines of an industrial kiln, or in the natural geological processes of the earth's mantle. It certainly should not be possible in the absence of an accelerant. Yet there was no sign of any accelerant in any samples gathered."

"Didn't we get similar reports on the base?"

"Well, we did get some anecdotal reports from the first responders to the scene that there were Knightmares which appeared to have been melted through their arms or legs. But we believe the situation of these two incidents to be separate for the moment. There is a theoretical explanation for the damage seen to the Knightmares, but we are lacking such an explanation for the castle."

"You mean the plasma weapon theory we discussed before."

"There are experimental weapons that have been in development for some time that use energy-based substructures applied as a contained form… I suppose if you want the laymen's term for it, it would be an energy sword," Rakshata explained as she entered the room. "Or more precisely it would be a plasma blade. But, as I'm sure Cecile can explain, it is still mostly theoretical. We would know right away if an energy weapon like that was tested to cause this destruction."

"Well, yes. The issue with the concept of an energy blade weapon is the containment of the energy in a limited area. To achieve a useable structural area, there must be sufficient energy output of the weapon, at least equal to that of the float systems of an Avalon-class ship. Achieving containment in a restricted area is still not functionally possible. We need to use a magnetic field for containment, and we simply lack the ability to create a sufficiently durable, reliable or powerful enough one that can be also deployed as part of a weapon system, thus you will end up with a scattering of all of that energy."

"Is the float system so different an application?"

"Sad to say that's the case," Lloyd shrugged. "It took a lot of work to make a functional float system. Even that is mainly a static containment of energy to allow what is essentially gliding on solid wings. Even the system that allows it to discharge energy shots is nothing more than weakening select points in the containment field and allowing that energy to leak out."

"And if a system that could create one of these energy blades were created?"

Rakshata took a long draw of her pipe before answering. "It would certainly still be nothing more than a prototype and certainly equipped to a Knightmare. The passive and active defense systems of the capital would absolutely pick up the energy output of a Knightmare with the sort of powerplant necessary to support both a float system and such an energy weapon. Even assuming one were created, it could have certainly caused some of the damage to Knightmares at the Black Knights' base, but not the castle. To do the damage seen at the castle with a bladed weapon would have been far too involved for anyone to not notice a Knightmare holding a glowing object slowly cutting away at the castle. What's more, energy blades don't by themselves start fires."

"You're saying that even at temperatures that hot…"

"Well, it's not as though the castle was built without any consideration for its own defense. It was constructed to be far more blast resistant than the original, and that included crafting materials less prone to combustion. To put it simply, a scene such as the one described is not possible without the entire castle being doused in some chemical or exposed to even more extreme heat than the kilns used to create its bricks."

"It seems then that it's even more likely we have a traitor on the inside."

"Then it would seem we've arrived at a frame for a story. Unknown terrorists infiltrated the imperial castle and the Black Knights' base, with the aide of agents planted within, and carried out their attack. We'll have to glamour up the story a little, but it's got the outlines of something the people will buy,"

Ignoring Lloyd's quip, Cornelia moved on. "Do we have any leads on who might be responsible? Any nations or groups on the radar?"

"The Black Knights have an ongoing list of plausible terror threats with international reach, and as you know our own knights track all suspected threats to the homeland," Cecile began. "While they've come up with a number of possible state and non-state actors who would potentially have enough animosity to have done this, they haven't settled on the idea that any of them have the political will to begin a conflict with Britannia and the Black Knights at this time. It's possible that this is the reason no one has claimed responsibility as well, as they are looking to put off the inevitable reprisal that would ensue."

"It's less likely we're dealing with a nation-state," Cornelia mused, her already sour mood souring further. "Any nation mad enough to do something this brazen at the risk of incurring the UFN's anger wouldn't be afraid of proclaiming it. Furthermore, we'd likely have seen some evidence of movement by now if the mechanism of a nation was moving with the purpose of instigating a war.

"But, if not directly, I suspect there's likely some nation operating behind the scenes of whatever group is behind all this. No small terrorist group is going to have the finances and training for an operation like this unless they have someone backing them."

Cecile continued on, "The Imperial Knights and the Black Knights have been leaning in that direction too. It's currently the most logical assumption that a relatively small organization managed to secure backing from some nation with a grudge against both the Empire and the Black Knights, trained individuals who managed to infiltrate the castle's staff, possibly as part of the security, as well as the local Black Knights base, in order to carry out the attack. Background checks are being done again on all staff at both facilities to see if there is any overlap in terms of nation or origin, or time of employment, that would lead to any known threats."

"We'll have to make sure the search isn't narrowed too much. There's always the potential that someone we considered an ally has turned against us. It would certainly make for an easier time if our own negligence simply waved them through all our defenses."

It didn't take much digging through one's memory banks to realize what Cornelia was getting at. She stopped short of saying as much aloud, but this whole thing stunk of the very tactics Lelouch once used against Britannia. One could say a lesson can be over-learned, but he did topple the empire that way. The Black Knights were not now the organization they were if not for his tactics. It made sense that both the empire and the Black Knights were wary of someone else going that route in this situation. With just a little extra luck in timing, this attack could well have killed the empress.

Their conversation went on a time longer before a staff officer interrupted with a knock at the door. His knock seemed innocent enough, but his entire demeanor said he was some part confused and scared.

"Well, what is it?" Cornelia urged in the way she would.

"Your highness," the man began. "A disturbance was reported a few moments ago. It is at a location approximately 10 miles from the Pendragon Hall of Antiquities. The police are responding, but they have requested further guidance on how to respond to the scene."

"What incompetence… why would you concern us with a police matter?"

"The first officers responding said the incident began with a suspected attempted arson at the Hall of Antiquities. The suspect left the scene, and that has led to the current standoff. The suspect is described as a young woman in her mid-to-late teens, with long, pink, hair…"

The atmosphere darkened before the officer could finish. Cornelia rushed up from her seat and was making her way out of the room. "I want the scene completely locked down; keep the press away, and don't let any witnesses leave before we talk to them. Tell the 34th Dispatch Platoon to deploy to the scene to apprehend the target. They're to capture the suspect alive so we can get more information about their terror cell and other potential attacks. Where is the empress?"

"Her majesty should be in a meeting with the vice foreign minister of…" Cecile was answering, hurrying along to keep pace with Cornelia. Lloyd and Rakshata had fallen behind, not the types to ever "rush" anywhere.

"Good, don't bother her with this until we know for sure what's going on and we've put the matter under control."

"That may be difficult, your highness," Rakshata called, waving a tablet through the air.

The Pendragon Hall of Antiquities was a museum built after the reconstruction of the capital. Unlike many of the museums in the capital prior to the destruction caused by the FLEIJA, this one covered more than the glamorous zeal of Britannia's conquests. It held many artifacts and displays accounting the history of Britannia, far less whitewashed and glamorized. The dedication had declared that the Hall would be the "keeping place of the truth in both darkness and light, so that all future generations may know and learn."

Tours were conducted daily, today no different than any other. The tour was passing by the exhibit regarding the "Areas" policy era of the empire, from the conquest of Area 1, to the eventual demise and end of the entire Area policy. The exhibit credited the end of the policy to several things, among them being the alleged exploitation by Euphemia in her massacre, the utility of that same concept by Nunnally to subrogate the empire and allowed Lelouch to exploit for his plans, and naturally the reformation of the world following the end of Lelouch's life and reign.

The disturbance began when that exhibit caught fire. As people scrambled out to the sound of fire alarms and the shower of the sprinkler system, there was plenty of the pushing and shoving normally attested to such situations. In the panic, one person in particular, a woman wearing an oversized newsboy-style cap, was straggling along slower than the rest. When she was bumped into, her hat fell off, revealing a cascade of hair, a dull pink.

It took a moment for anyone to pay the woman any mind as she began working her way against the flow of the crowd, apparently choosing to pursue another exit. It took a few seconds longer before it dawned on any of those who saw her that she was the spitting image of the late Princess Euphemia.

Moments later, several people who saw her were outside talking to the security of the Hall, and the police who arrived on scene, made note of her, believing she was a lookalike employed by the Hall as part of an exhibit or show or some such thing. It was quickly apparent, however, that the Hall had no such employees, and moreover it made little sense for any lookalike to thereby cover up their appearance by wearing a disguise. Suspicion only increased of her given that she apparently fled the scene.

To say she "fled" was probably a little much. No one had seen her running, and she hadn't gotten very far from the scene when the police caught up to her. By now it was already in their minds that they were chasing a woman who looked like the late princess, but to see the woman standing on that side street, who looked everything like every image of the princess they'd ever seen in their lives, was equal parts enraging and enthralling.

Still, logic said this was some lookalike who at the moment was a potential suspect as the arsonist that started the fire at the exhibit. She left the scene, she was said to be nearest the spot when the fire was thought to have started, and that made her suspicious. What elevated the matter to one outside of standard police action was when they cornered her, asked her to come with them, and their car exploded into flames. She then threatened to burn them alive if they didn't let her go. Of course, not apt to believe a seemingly baseless threat like that, and now suspecting her of possibly having a concealed weapon, the incident escalated.

Not heeding her warning, the officers pressed to apprehend her. And then one of them was engulfed in flames. Shock and terror robbed them of their senses for a moment, but they soon rushed to their colleague's aide, while the woman merely walked away.

They weren't sure what they were dealing with, but the officers knew it wasn't normal criminals. Still, how do you put out an all points bulletin on a person who looks like the deceased princess? Someone was prudent enough, had enough wherewithal, to consider that it might have been better to at least alert the crown that they were about to do something that would certainly sound like bumbling cops making a mountain out of a relatively minor bit of criminal mischief. Surely that was all it was. Some petty criminal thought it would be a lark to dress up as the Massacre Princess and play around with some fireworks.

Except, a police car was being rendered a charred crumple on the ground, and a police officer suffered shock and severe burns over significant parts of his body, his colleagues suffering burns to their hands too in trying to put him out.

"Hold it right there!" another officer shouted, the woman turning to leave and instead coming face-to-face with another half dozen officers with guns drawn at her. "You've got three seconds to get down on the ground!" he shouted.

The woman didn't move. She looked at the officer with indignation, pressed her lips in frustration, and then said, "It would be better for the both of us if you would allow me to go."

"Get down on the ground, now!" a number of officers shouted, each taking an extra step forward.

"Do you recognize me?" she asked, undeterred.

A shot rang out as an officer quickly pointed his gun skyward and fired a single round. He then aimed his gun on the woman again. "Down on the ground! I'm not saying it again!" he ordered once more.

The area darkened, as if heavy clouds had moved across the sun's path. The officers, preoccupied as they were, took no real notice of it. A heavy gust beat down on them suddenly, like a storm had snuck up on them. A slightly shrill, somewhat raspy, roar reverberated as though someone set their loudspeaker to twelve on a scale of one to ten.

One of the officers let out a scream as he collapsed to the ground, staring up at the tops of the buildings. There were two, large, black figures perched atop the buildings. The figures, beasts one could only describe as dragons, looked to be surveying the ground below them.

Another officer, horrified and panicked, shouted out as he fired his gun at one of the beasts, emptying all ten rounds. The act served to only agitate the beast, causing it to call out again with its shrill voice. The other beast echoed the angry cry, moving from one building to another as if to encircle the humans below. The masonry of the buildings began to collapse under the weight. Inside, the screams of scared and confused people could be heard as they panicked over the commotion. A few braver souls poked heir heads out the window to see what was going on. They retreated soon enough.

One of the beasts attempted to make its way to the ground, scraping grooves into the buildings as it went, and crushing cans and one police car in its way. It looked towards the officers and opened its mouth, as if to prepare to breath down hot death on them. But as it did, it seemed to have caught a glimpse of the woman. It snapped its jaws shut, snorting like an angry bull.

The officers were separated from their vehicles, meaning they couldn't radio for anything, let alone help. They didn't have any option but to huddle together, desperate in trying to figure out a way to survive this.

The woman didn't appear to be so daunted. She walked over to the beast and placed her hand on its body. What was a bucking bronco, ready to go, turned into just a docile puppy. She looked up at the other beast. It beat its wings, lifted itself skyward, and took flight away from the rooftops.

"Would you kindly tell my sisters that I can't give them much time? I have things I need to accomplish, and I can't afford to stop."

The beast lowered its head closer to the ground. She climbed atop its head, grabbing hold of the row of spines down its back. The black beast rose itself back up, barked a small cry at the officers, and began to beat its wings. It gained a little lift and took off in the same direction as the first beast.

A news crew on its way to cover the fire at the museum came upon the initial scene of the police cornering a suspect. They began filming the standoff between the police and the woman who looked an awful lot like the late princess Euphemia. They also got the image of the black beasts descending on the area, and their subsequent departure. Those images were broadcast all over television in Britannia, and surely most parts of the world paying enough attention. Undoubtedly the whole world knew within hours that in Britannia, which was in the midst of a spate of brazen and catastrophic terrorist attacks, there was someone in the guise of a deceased princess and running about on the backs of what appeared to be dragons.


	8. Chapter 8 - Memorial Day

**Memorial Day**

A persistent and chilly rain fell down above the roughly thousand people who were allowed into the venue. A massive tent served as their temporary shelter from the beating rain. For anyone or anything else it would have likely been that these folks wouldn't have shown up at all. They would have most likely stayed at home and skipped any other outdoor event with weather like this.

This was no ordinary event to be skipped or passed over lightly. It had taken much consternation to even delay it as had been done. Some cruel, or minimally thoughtless, kismet took the chance for inclement weather into account for justifying the original delay, only for the same weather to come again the week later the event had been delayed.

The cloud that hung over their heads, however, was heavier than the one dropping this soaking rain. Yet, it was a cloud that was less than that which necessitated them being beneath these rains.

The public holiday known as Memorial Day was established about a year into the reign of the 100th Empress of the Holy Britannia Empire. The holiday is a somber one meant to be dedicated to solemn reflection and mourning. The date is that of the death of the Demon King.

"We come together here on this inauspicious day to grieve and to mourn the tragedies that have piled up so heavily on our hearts for so long. A year ago today… one year ago, we turned the page on a tremendously sad and difficult past. We who bore witness to a saga of tyrannical desires, unrelenting pain, and harrowing nightmares, in our quest to see through to a better day, stand here in solemn awe of the sacrifices made that allows us to be here. We all had to watch as the lives of precious friends and family were lost to senseless violence brought about by the selfishness of a few with power who thought that power meant they were free to do whatever they wanted.

"With the death of the man most responsible for many of these tragedies, our Holy Britannia Empire has begun the difficult task of amending the ways of a misguided history, and securing a more peaceful and just future. We gather today to mourn those brave souls who struggled with all they had for our sake, who made the ultimate sacrifice to grant us an opportunity for a tomorrow not dominated by the will of those who would use despicable powers that corrupt our will and twist our better natures.

"There is no greater gift we can give in honor of those we've lost than to do everything in our power to protect this precious, fragile, peace that has been entrusted to us. We will allow ourselves at least this day each year to shed tears of both sorrow and joy, as we go about the hard work each and every day to be certain no more loved ones, no future generations, need add to the list of names that we must mourn on this day."

Empress Nunnally was very much still a fresh-faced diplomat at the time she gave that first Memorial Day speech. That warm, sunny, day seemed so distant from the terrible events it was set to mark. There was still a wave of goodwill at her back from the reforms she had made, and from simply not appearing to be her father or brother. This speech was seen as a major test for her, and most agreed she'd passed.

In private however;

"I hate this so much…" she whined in a mousy voice only a couple days earlier.

"You can still back out of it, you know? Charles used to do that all the time, until he decided to just stop scheduling speeches in the first place. He'd just decide all of a sudden when he wanted to make a statement and everyone would run around to accommodate him. He considered it one of his privileges as emperor."

"But I don't want to be like father. To inconvenience people like that… it's not the right thing to do. I already committed to doing this, so I have to." Nunnally refuted, seemingly dismissing her own complaints.

"You're so silly," her companion laughed, mussing the empresses' hair a little. "He'd be really proud of you; you know that, right?"

"Yet I have to make a speech where I demean his memory even further. I have to be the one that tells all of these people I don't even know how terrible a person he was."

"Nunnally…"

She didn't have words for the young and inexperienced empress. There was no right answer to give her, so she just tried to comfort her. She cradled Nunnally close to her chest and gently stroked her hair as the empress resisted the urge to cry.

"Why is this so hard?" Nunnally softly bemoaned.

"I wish I could tell you that this all becomes easy, but I don't think it ever does; at least not that I've seen. Unless you close your heart off, these feelings will always be with you. But if you did that, it would go against everything he fought for."

"I wish you would stay here in the capital with me."

"That's not a good idea. You have your own life to live now, Nunnally. I'm nothing more than a relic of the past. Besides, it's not like I'll be gone forever. I'll come by to see you every now and then."

"Oh geez. You really are as capricious as a cat." Nunnally chuckled hoarsely.

Being empress was a lonesome thing. It made Nunnally ponder quite often if perhaps her father's errors were perhaps the outcome from combating that specter of loneliness. Surrounded by people yet no one to talk to. People around you all the time, and not one person who really knows you. She wanted to live, be happy, for Lelouch's sake. He gave up everything for her so she could do that. But at times it was so hard. Thinking about it only made that pain worse. She felt like she was letting him down if she didn't smile or find something about each day to make her say, "I'm happy about that" or "I'm glad."

But seeing someone who looks like your sister who was supposed to have died years ago, on live television, in a standoff with police, didn't evoke such feelings of contentment and joy. Seeing her escape police attempts to question her about a suspected arson, flying off atop what looked like a creature that shouldn't really exist, the only silver lining she could find was that no one was killed this time.

Information control will only get you so far. The modern world has too many variables which can make that task highly difficult, if not impossible. It was even more so the fact now that Britannia was not as iron-fisted a rule as it had been under its last two monarchs and before. The consequence of that freedom was that information could get out, and it was hard to pull it back once it did.

News organizations that once would have been beholden to the imperial will were now free to report as they wanted. So when a news crew on the way to report on a fire at an important national museum came across a scene of a police standoff, their thoughts had no reason to drift to questions of whether the crown would be pleased with their reporting. Where they would have held back when thinking the story might negatively reflect on the crown, they now eagerly rolled their cameras.

They saw the police cornering a suspect, guns drawn, so they rushed to get their cameras on that as soon as possible and made it a breaking news story. And just like that, the story about the imperial castle's burning began to crumble. The small rumors about the visage of a dead princess, or of massive, winged, black, beasts, were all confirmed.

"It's all over," one advisor bemoaned in depression as the images ran for about the fifth time that morning. "We should've kept our grip on the media. They're nothing but pests who keep stirring up trouble."

"It's too late to be worrying about that now. The cat's outta the bag. We've gotta figure out how to fix this mess," another advisor chided. "Where's the empress right now?"

"She's in closed session with her brother and sister. I believe a couple of special attachés are with her as well."

"And Zero?"

"He's gone to investigate the scene himself."

"Tch, he must be pissed too. He was the one that killed her to begin with. That damn Massacre Princess… this is a nightmare!"

"Just relax. There's no lies in anything we've told the public," a military aide said with a exasperated sigh. "Nothing about this changes what we've been saying; all of this has been the terrorist acts of some unknown aggressor, a clandestine terrorist organization that has yet to make itself more widely known. Prince Schneizel was worried about something unexpected coming up, that's why he insisted we stick to that limited message."

"There're already stories going about that we've been hiding the fact that she didn't die six years ago. They're saying…"

"They can say whatever they want to say. It doesn't make their words any less fantasy they've made up for convenience. Anyone who rather believe some made up story about somehow hiding away someone as notorious and recognizable as the 3rd princess is liable to believe any story they're fed at any time. You all getting rattled and panicking is only going to make our jobs harder."

"Y-Yes sir,"

"For five years now people have been predicting that our empress would stumble and fall. She's done better for Britannia than anyone could've hoped after the mess she was left with. It's about time her hard work was rewarded with a little faith."

Alphard Fitzdale was an up-and-coming figure in the world of Britannia politics. He was formerly a lieutenant in the Britannia military, serving for a time in the Europa theater as well as stints as part of Cornelia and Schneizel's security details. It was his Europa service that he gained notoriety for. He managed to lead his unit out of a number of dangerously close shaves. He was known for being very pragmatic and far less cutthroat than those around him. While contemporaries had lost their lives and the lives of their men making prideful charges to try to win acclaim, he focused on supporting other units and ensuring supply lines. When others were pillaging the territory they won, he would protect infrastructure and maintain public order.

For that, he was appointed to be the liaison for the Eastern Front's withdrawal from Europa when Nunnally announced the withdrawal of Britannia from their territory. He then transferred into a role as a member of the Joint North Atlantic Task Force, a body set up under the United Federation of Nations to facilitate the generally uninteresting parts of diplomacy and peace – shipping and transport rights, status of forces agreements in certain waters, and other such entertaining topics.

He was then invited into his current role as on the advisors to the Council. Initially he had been considered a skeptic of the Nunnally regime. He, like many, thought her too weak and inexperienced to do any good as a leader. She was likely to do something foolish, he thought, out of a misguided attempt to earn herself the accolades he presumed she thought due her. That had been, after all, the experience he'd been surrounded by in the military – those in power using that power to justify their having power. It was an insecurity that annoyed him; these folks always looking over their shoulders and terrified of anyone saying a bad word about them.

He was relieved, however, to see something a little different with this empress. There was still that bit of fear in her. She looked so dainty and fragile that, yet could get such a defiant look to her too. That was a bad combination, to be sure. Those sorts tended to lash out the worst, liable to start a war for fear that whatever enemy they could conceive would get them if they didn't start a war.

"Memorial Day? What a splendid idea, your majesty!" one general puffed during royal court when Nunnally formally proposed the idea. "The Knights and members of the Britannia Armed Forces will be most pleased to have such rousing support from her majesty."

"While it's true that I would like to do something for all the hard work and sacrifices of our military," Nunnally began a little shakily. "I would like to use this day to help heal the wary hearts and minds of all Britannians. There is much work that must be done to recover and repair the damage caused over the last many years, and the people are feeling a sense of exhaustion and weariness from enduring that work without time to reflect on the memories of their friends and loved ones who they've lost. It is my wish that this day at least be set aside for all Britannians to be able to do just that."

"I-I see," the general replied. It was obvious that he was holding his tongue, anxious to speak up against her, if not that she was him empress.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, your majesty," Cornelia stated pleasantly. She was still early in her plans to transition out of the military service. "I would think the individuals here are anxious to fully articulate your ideal. Perhaps give them some tie to come back with proposals for how this should all be conducted?"

"Yes, you're right. Please, everyone, take time to consider my idea and how we might make this a proud part of Britannia's heritage going forward."

Alphard was happy to hear her idea. He was confident the last thing Britannia needed was another day for military parades and speeches on how to beat-up on people weaker than you. He was very hopeful for what would come of it.

And he was relatively pleased with the holiday. He wasn't completely thrilled with the tone, but he was content. It seemed ill-placed that so much of what was meant to be a day to remember and find comfort in the good memories of lost loved ones and heroes, was instead spent ridiculing the mistakes of the more infamous deceased, but he couldn't deny that it was to be expected to some degree. "It will peter out over the years," he told a friend who shared his concerns. "The further we get from that day, the less animated folks will be."

"So long as they don't forget the whole point," the friend said back.

It echoed in his head now like a broken record – so long as they don't forget the whole point. It was one of the failings of humanity to forget the point of their own actions as time goes by. Actions repeated enough times become so rote that the action itself assumes more meaning that what it was originally meant to accomplish.

But Alphard was an optimist if nothing else. So, even as people bashed the reigns of the monarchy, and even if his empress endured against raging tides while piloting a boat full of holes, he always looked to the silver linings. "Even if this moment looks fairly bleak, as long as her majesty can stay true to herself, I think we will be better for it. I'll do what I can to keep her dissenters at bay."

"We remember, on this day, the likes of Alphard Fitzdale, Alpine Tursk, Bartholomew Simpson…"

At the beginning of the ceremony, there was an invocation. Memorial Day, year five. After having already been postponed once, the decision was made to go ahead a week later with the annual ceremony. Echoing the words the empress herself spoke in dedicating the day five years ago, the idea was to use the day as a rallying cry for all of Britannia to hold fast against the newest scourge against their peace and prosperity. It was thought that, even in the midst of these terrorist acts, a day like this one could comfort tired and worried souls, help to unify the nation, and brace it to combat the new foe.

To open the ceremony held in Pendragon, they began by dedicating the day to those lost in the prior year. A priest would say a prayer, and a deacon would read the names of some of the more notable names lost. Just a couple days after the museum incident, where the cameras caught sight of the person calling herself Euphemia li Britannia, Alphard was with a group of officials touring a base about 200 miles southwest of Pendragon. The base was getting set to deploy forces to backup defense efforts around Pendragon. It became embroiled in a battle. Alphard was killed when a wall was blown away and collapsed on top of him. Although suffering significant burns, it was ruled that he was crushed to death, likely only feeling the intense heat for a very brief moment before he died. A small comfort to those who were now mourning his passing.

Nunnally didn't know it, but she was a little lonelier that day. Alphard was a quiet man by nature. Despite what repute and fame he'd earned, he wasn't a glory seeker. So much of his support for Nunnally went unnoticed. She'd obviously known him by name, and could probably pick his face out of a crowd, but they never really spoke much. He likely offered her a kind word once or twice, in passing, but that was about it. He hadn't been seeking her recognition, or even wanted it really. He only wanted her to succeed because he thought she was the best chance for the nation to succeed. If it headed down the path of Charles or Lelouch, he was sure Britannia's days were at their end. He considered Nunnally the chance Britannia needed to pull itself above its less than reputable past. With his passing, there was at least one less person supporting her in her purpose.

"Every year, it's always the same thing," Nunnally lamented in private as she read over her speech. "I sit there with a gloomy expression as I listen to the names of precious lives I couldn't save. I listen to speech after speech about how terrible my brother was. And then I have to give a speech where I also tell them how terrible my brother was. And now, this year, I have to tell them how terrible Euphie was too. Even though it wasn't her fault, even though she was the sweetest and nicest person in the entire world, I have to tell them a lie they want to hear, all because someone chose to use her name, her face, to commit such terrible acts.

"I'm so sorry Euphie. Even after all Lelouch did, even after I became empress, I'm still too weak to change things the way I want. I can't even tell the truth about how wonderful you really were, and let everyone ridicule you unfairly.

"And brother… it's even worse when I think about you. What a terrible thing I've done to you, big brother."

"She really hates this whole thing," Sara murmured from her seat in the press gallery.

"You think so?" Chris asked her. She resisted the urge to pinch him for always being so quick to question her. "She just looks sad to me," he added in for good measure.

"Of course she is. But that's something different from the expression she's wearing right now. There's an anger on top of the sadness. Unlike normal sadness that should wane over time, hers gets a little worse every year."

"Hmm, well, I think that might be expected? I mean, I don't know about past ceremonies, but doing this one after all the trouble that's been going on, someone showing up and committing terrorist acts while claiming to be her dead sister, can't be easy."

"It's definitely something more than that. Well, it's not like staring at her is gonna get me anywhere," she said as she got up. "I'll be back in time for her highness's turn at the mic, okay. Make sure you're ready to record even before I get back, got it?"

"Yes ma'am."

Sara liked to keep her thoughts on Memorial Day to herself. She was plenty smart enough to know the kind of trouble she could stir up if her lips were too loose with her thoughts. But the truth was she didn't much care of the holiday. She regarded it as nothing more than the chance for old wounds to reopen, and for the callous and weak-willed to bellyache about their woeful past as though the world owed them something.

Really it was her own insecurities that ate at her. She generally hated being around people who were depressed and crying. She was empathetic enough to be annoyed at her own inability to do anything to help them. People couldn't come back from the dead, so a day dedicated to a bunch of people being depressed about dead people was entirely fruitless. She tolerated Chris' moments of dunderheadedness more now because it at least usually lightened her mood ever so much. She'd probably sleep with him again later just to avoid having to think about the day.

She would rather have some interesting story to work on. The whole business with that Euphemia double wasn't of interest to her. "Return of Princess Massacre" sounded like a terrible B-movie title, but so many news outlets were running with that one now. After the museum incident, and the showdown with the police, there were a spate of attacks on military bases. The military wasn't being very forthcoming on the scale of the damage being done, the size of the force that attacked, or much of anything. But it was still known that the Euphemia lookalike was at the scene of each one.

As far as Sara was concerned, anyone giving oxygen to the theory that this was somehow the reanimated real princess, brought back from the dead, was a moron whose common sense was severely lacking. It wasn't a story worth following when the answer was so obvious; someone was using a lookalike precisely to do what was being done. they were sowing confusion and speculation and finger pointing over something that didn't matter. It wasn't as if this somehow really being the princess would change the facts on the ground about Britannia chasing its own tail trying to contain whoever this was and their brazen attacks on Britannia's military. While folks were obsessing over the more flashy angle of figuring out the details about someone dressed up to look like a dead princess, Sara didn't really care.

"In the end, we all know it's just a stunt. They'll figure out the rest sooner or later. It's just like it was with Zero seven years ago. Who it is isn't important – it's what they're doing and how you stop it," she said to a colleague who asked her about it a couple days ago.

Really, all Sara wanted was to know Nunnally's take on all this. Her aides were keeping her from talking to the public much now, though it wasn't like she was a media gadfly to begin with. Her reading some prepared speech out here on stage at some event she hated to head each year, Nunnally wasn't likely to share anything worth hearing. It was purely an annoyance to Sara to think of having to watch Nunnally do that. It was her job to record and report on the empress doing this, so she would, but Sara's interests were in more… proprietary information. If she couldn't spend her time getting interesting shots of the empress, she'd at least spend her time on interesting stories.

"What do you mean?" she overheard someone asking.

"Hey, keep it down," the companion replied in a panicked voice.

The two looked to be junior officers, likely part of the venue preparation team or something along those lines. Sara had occasion to interact with those sorts before. At this stage of an event they were usually staring to get bored with hanging around in the back with nothing to do. they would generally start gossiping, and as only junior officers could be a little lacking in terms of discipline when it came to keeping sensitive information quiet. She didn't know these two or she might have approached them to coax the info out of them a little more clearly. Instead, she stuck to the other side fo the corner from where they were and listened as closely as she could. It was difficult, however, given the volume of the event.

"They're tryin' to hail Madrid to see if they might know something. The Saratoga might launch a recon plane to take a look."

"A recon plane? Seriously? Aren't they overreacting a bit? I mean, it's probably that the comms room decided to get to the bottles a little faster than us is all. It's like what, five in the evening over there? They're probably just sittin' round a screen waiting to see the empress's speech."

"That's why they haven't alerted her majesty yet. I mean, if the base commander let the guys screw off for over an hour, he'll be lucky if he ain't court martialed."

"Well, I guess you got a point. We're practically on a war stance right now. Last thing HQ needs is to be chasing down a bunch of drunk idiots, hoping a base ain't under attack."

"_This sounds like_ _it could be interesting,_" Sara thought as she started away from the conversation. These guys were too green to really know anything. They likely got their commission on mommy and daddy's dime if they were dumb enough to think that a military base was going to go silent for an hour because some guys were drunk and lost track of time. No, something was wrong. It wouldn't take long to figure out exactly what it was.

The sound of applause began to echo, signaling the end of the latest speech. It was now time for the empress to take her turn at the microphone. With great anticipation, Sara quickly made her way back towards the press box. She would be a couple minutes into Nunnally's speech, but that would be okay. She'd wring Chris' neck if he failed to record any of it though.

"That's gotta be some kind of joke," she heard someone angrily shout. This far away from the stage you weren't likely to hear him up there, but certainly some stage hands would be telling whoever it was to keep it down.

"You think they'd be stupid enough to joke about something like this?" the other person angrily shouted back.

Sara didn't consider herself one of those people who could just sense stuff. In her business those types were said to be able to sniff out stories. She never considered herself much of a reporter anyway, so that wasn't something that meant anything to her. Regardless, hearing that man make that declaration sent a sickening feeling to the pit of her stomach. She had never felt that before, and she couldn't understand why she was feeling it now. But it was certainly a foreboding to be reckoned with. Something big was about to happen, without question.


End file.
